nature nurture
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Forced into a marriage built on the premise of procreation, more animosity than affection, Kazama and Sen share only two things in common: their heritage, and their duty. Can they bend to accommodate one another's individual temperaments, or will maintaining their dignity through distance cause them to break? Mentioned HeiChi. M for language and sexual themes. I do not own Hakuōki.
1. moonrise

The first time, Sen is undeniably frightened.

Contrary to her expectations, delaying her wedding night only makes her more and more uneasy as the days wear on. She never wanted to marry into the Kazama clan, so she did the only thing she could think to do, and ran from her responsibilities almost as soon as their union was confirmed. Consequently, she has spent the first several days of her reluctant marriage in almost complete seclusion, requesting Kiku's advice. Or, to put matters less delicately, _help_.

Sen keeps largely to her confidante's company for two days, learning all she can, often asking the same questions over and over again… until finally the third morning. Then, Kiku tells Sen that she has no further suggestions to offer, with the sad and gentle certainty that always underlines her half-disguised admonitions. Seduction, so she explains, is more easily done than said—so Sen, sensible of her situation, swears to herself as well as her husband that she will delay the inevitable no longer and visit Kazama tonight.

Sen has always had pride in her ability to set aside her personal feelings and do what is best for her people, and she did so admirably when she first made her proposal. However, now that she has been effectively cornered by her position and by Kazama's insistence, she finds herself… afraid. Her circumstances are no longer under her control, and therefore she is no longer safe. The reality of the situation is that Sen no longer has any choice in her allegedly chosen course.

She spends the rest of the last day in isolation, first gathering her wits, and then her courage. She tells herself many things over those endless hours, but only one thought calms her down for any length of time: that even had they followed her original plan, she would still have had to bed Kazama to carry it out. Still, despite the inevitability, she would have far preferred keeping her independence. She dislikes the idea of _belonging_ to Kazama in any sense, and it was bad enough that she had to volunteer her body alone without being forced to proffer her entire self like this.

Sen supposes she _could_ have rejected him outright, but such a choice would have been her downfall. All her people are as dear to her as any blood relatives could be, and her advisors have made it abundantly clear over the years that she needs to marry well for their sake. And besides, Kazama's added incentives were irrefutably generous. In exchange for Sen's hand in marriage, he would use the favors he and his attendants earned with the Satsuma to keep Yase and its people out of human matters. All that was required of her in return was that their firstborn be heir to the Kazama clan and not to her own line.

Such an offer, however, appeared far more magnanimous than the true spirit in which it was intended. After all, earlier the very same meeting, Kazama flatly refused to honor Sen's previous proposal upon making his own. Only after overhearing Kiku's report of continued covert imperial investigation of Yase did Kazama offer a solution—reminding Sen more than a little mockingly how much more she had to lose than he.

Backed into a corner by more forces than she could hope to confront at once, not the least of which was their councils' first unanimous agreement, she had little choice but to accept the engagement. Even though the thought of maintaining a lasting connection to such a beast still makes her sick at heart.

(Yet there is something undefined about Kazama that intrigues Sen, too, and that intimidates her almost more than the man himself. A certain sensitivity, a keenness of mind, a depth of feeling and genuine empathy rarely shown. These glimmers of goodness are enough to make her wonder whether his severity is nothing more than an extremely convincing mask, but she does not dare try to pry it off.)

All too soon, the fateful hour comes. As soon as the autumnal sun dips below the horizon, Kiku returns to bathe Sen, but neither of them speak, before or during or after. As she cleanses her lady before she must be defiled, both of them find that there is nothing left for them to say. Not until Kiku finishes securing Sen's robe and starts helping her into another layer. The fabric might be beautiful on another evening, but the colors seem to hurt her eyes, even in the dim golden glow of lantern-light.

"There is no need," says Sen quietly, her voice dull and foreign to her own ears after having spent so long in silent solitude. "It will come off soon enough."

She wants more than anything else to add that Kazama does not deserve the satisfaction of seeing her dressed and made up, but can say no more. Having relied on Kiku for the past few days, she must be strong, even if it means feigning strength. To admit that her doubts have still not been assuaged would be unthinkable after the lengths to which her confidante has gone to reassure her.

"My lady," is Kiku's only, soft reply. It is obvious that she senses the discord within—but, as befits her station, she does not dare address it. Though she hesitates a moment longer, she bows her head respectfully and sets the next layer aside. Her sympathy is plain on her face, although her expression also holds a peculiar and perhaps misguided tinge of pride. Sen supposes this _is_ a rite of passage, however unpleasant it may be.

"Whatever his attitude, you could not ask for a more attractive first partner," says Kiku eventually, kissing Sen's forehead like a fretting sister. "And that matters more than you may think. Have faith in yourself, Princess." She gives a warm and bittersweet smile, and turns away. "You know that knowledge is power, and after all I've told you, I shouldn't be surprised if you know much more than he does."

Sen lets her go… and then, when she is alone again, reaches into her robe to remove her undergarment. Flinging it angrily aside, she flinches as it hits the wall, struggling mightily between her anger and her helplessness and shame. She knows she has neither reason nor right to be so vindictive, but she can't help but think the more steps they can skip, the better.

Heavy-hearted and lightheaded, Sen snaps the door shut behind her, trying not to think of how she will be missing a part of herself the next time she walks through it. She moves very slowly, staring at her shadow passing through the fading light, and feels that if she lengthens her strides in the slightest, she might leave herself behind altogether. As she passes an open door, a gentle breeze drifts through the hall, still more summer than fall, and beckons her to the courtyard.

Pausing, Sen takes a moment to glance longingly outside at the familiar scene, comforting in this moment of uncertainty. Even if she had to marry Kazama, at least she has not had to leave her home again, especially since she and her people already had to evacuate once during the war. Now, there is no trace of such strife, although there is something despondent about the atmosphere.

Night has set in swiftly, stars pricking at the twilit heavens like tears. Leaves sway in the restless wind, blushing scarlet as they whisper among themselves. Perhaps, thinks Sen, they are talking of her destination and her duty. But, letting out a short and almost painful sigh, she reluctantly continues on her way. The sooner she fulfills her mission, the sooner she can return to watch the moonrise.

It seems so childish to think of needing such a reward for her own necessary forbearance, but then again, it is fitting given her lingering innocence. Only after tonight will Sen truly be able to call herself a woman and not a girl. In that sense, at least, Kazama has something more than his lineage to offer her after all.

Her steps feel more purposeful now, although she has arrived at no conscious conclusion, and they carry her to Kazama's door more quickly than she would like. Sen opens her mouth to announce her presence, but her footfalls are evidently enough to do that for her. "Enter," says Kazama, and in his voice is irritation and triumph, apprehension and excitement—a concoction of conflicting emotions, alarmingly similar to Sen's own.

Steeling herself, Sen takes a deep breath and slides the door open, stepping inside and closing it behind her before she gives herself the chance to back down. By sealing the exit, she seals her own fate, and by doing so prevents Kazama from trapping her himself. This is _her_ will, and she will not be cornered.

Sen opens her mouth to greet him, but she and Kazama turn to face one another at the same time, and she can say nothing.

His yukata puts her pristine white robe to shame. It glitters bloodred, darker than his eyes, but not as dark as the soul she sees behind them. Yet Sen wonders how much of this is her own bitter anxiety, blackening all she sees. The glints of gold and silver, and the pale blossoms bursting here and there, may be just as symbolic of his temperament, and consequently bright enough to save him.

"You came," says Kazama, and his voice is not as emotionless as she expects. "I had been wondering if I would have to pay you a visit instead."

Sen swallows, but cannot think how to respond. Under his unrelenting gaze, she already feels exposed and vulnerable. Sen had always accounted for the possibility that this situation might feel like a nightmare, but until now, she had not realized that it was more terrifying still for it to feel _real_. As if to test her, Kazama takes a step forward, and it takes more self-control than Sen anticipates to stand her ground.

Kiku has often said, in proud admiration, that Sen is possessed of a rare and precious attractiveness, but she has never believed it until this moment. As Kazama advances slowly, the desire in his eyes cannot be either mistaken or ignored.

"I," begins Sen, but Kazama raises his hand to caress her face, and she scarcely avoids the urge to recoil from his touch. So bewildering is his proximity—his appearance—the circumstances surrounding this conversation—that in the moment, Sen cannot think of anything to say. But Kazama does not give her time to do so, curving his hand around to the back of her neck.

Before she can fully register the motion, he brings her forward. Sen stumbles, but he holds her firmly, steadying her. Sen's breath catches at the feel of Kazama's oppressive strength gripping her shoulders, and both of them hesitate; it isn't just her. That recognition, fleeting though it may be, is an oddly soothing one.

Kazama is, unsurprisingly, the one to stir first, leaning in the last few inches before their lips meet. His are softer than Sen expects, strangely gentle as they move momentarily against hers. Yet he pulls back again almost immediately, assessing her expression through feathery blond lashes that soften the threatening crimson of his eyes.

Sen feels her brow twitch into a slight frown, but it seems separate from herself and out of her control, and she feels no connection to whatever emotion provokes it. As Kazama studies her face, a faint smile plays on his lips, but she cannot interpret its meaning before he draws her closer still and presses his smirking mouth once more to hers.

As he does so, Sen notices a thousand things at once: the damp sheen of his recently washed hair; the heat of his clean skin through his yukata; the fact that though his scent is pleasant and faintly musky, he _tastes_ of nothing at all. By the time Kazama breaks away again, Sen's head feels simultaneously heavy and light, spinning with observations. Among them is that his supple fingers have slipped from her shoulders to curl delicately around her wrist, one by one.

Grinning at her thinly, eyes half-closed like those of a contented cat, Kazama leads Sen to his bed with barely contained eagerness, startling her with the motion. Why is it so easy for her to follow? She expected to have to fight herself every moment, but she finds instead that in the midst of her shock, it is _alarmingly_ easy to let Kazama have his way, to kneel as one with him atop his futon, even to let him kiss her again.

Perhaps that realization, and the fear that comes flooding back because of it, is what jolts Sen back to her senses.

A burst of strength fills her limbs as she recognizes that she has already lost what little control she has. Kazama's kiss is deeper now, more insistent, and he has started to brush Sen's garment off her shoulders so that it parts slightly in front. Half-blind in sudden panic, she pulls away and readjusts her robe hastily. "N-not… yet," manages Sen lamely, her first words to him a refusal.

Kazama's eyes spark in irritation, but Sen cannot meet them, having no more articulate excuse than her lack of readiness. Her husband sits back, his breathing heavier already, but still almost inaudible. "I would see you uncovered," he says, his stare scorching. "If you wish to unclothe yourself, then by all means, do so. Only take care that you _do so_."

Sen moistens her lips. Kazama's gaze is cruel and unrelenting, and she fears giving him the satisfaction of seeing her unnerved, to say nothing of seeing her unclothed. "Would you…" she begins, bowing her head as much to compose herself as to ask a favor. "Could you… close your eyes, Kazama… san?" She speaks haltingly, employing a suitable epithet for the first time, and raises her eyes to his at last. "Can I trust you not to look at me?"

Kazama frowns, but he seems more confused than disapproving at first. "I would _see_ you uncovered," he repeats, narrowing his eyes icily, and Sen shivers at his dangerous expression. "Did I not make myself clear?"

"You did," Sen assures him, knowing that much is true, whether she likes it or not. "But… no one has ever… seen me like this, before. So… it would be more comfortable for me if…" She trails off, shaking her head in agitation, and speaks more quickly to stabilize herself. "I-if you have decided to be my partner in this life, and _not_ merely the father of my child, then you must learn to respect my wishes and accommodate… m-my decisions."

A convulsive swallow almost cuts her off, and Sen's voice is tremulous, but she does not look away from Kazama's eyes lest he take it as a sign of weakness. After all, he seems to be searching for conviction in her countenance.

Once he finally finds it, Kazama heaves a somewhat exaggerated sigh. "I am not a patient man, especially not after the past few days," he growls, closing his eyes, and readjusts his position to sit seiza before her. "Do _not_ keep me waiting longer than you must."

As soon as she is certain that Kazama's eyes are in fact closed, Sen lets out a long breath, smiling faintly in relief. She undoes her obi carefully, relaxing in spite of herself. Now that her husband has finally taken his ravenous eyes off her, however unwillingly, she feels a little less like a prey animal.

Letting her robe fall softly behind her, Sen takes a moment to clear her head and remember Kiku's advice and training. Having returned to herself, she may as well try to make the most of it. A memory prods at her regained consciousness, and Sen takes a deep breath. _If you make up your mind not to feel anything, then I'll defer to your decision_ , echoes Kazama's warning, given on the evening their arrangement was first agreed upon. _But I've already resolved to make the best of the situation, and it's only right that I help you do the same_.

Sen has _not_ made up her mind in any such counterproductive way, and she intends to prove it. Her resolution solidifying, she crawls over to Kazama, leaning toward him on all fours. Though his eyes flicker and flutter, they do not open, and his breathing comes shallower as it mingles with hers. His nostrils flare, his ears twitching, as if he means to take her in with all his other senses.

"Don't look at me, Kazama-san," whispers Sen, either a gentle reminder or a harsh temptation. And this time, she is the one to kiss _him_.

Though Kazama at first seems at a loss for what to do with his hands, his inhibitions melt away as soon as he rests them on her shoulderblades. She can feel him tense an instant before he presses on her back to draw her closer, closer, into his lap. Sen has no time to turn aside, so she stretches out her legs on either side of him, perched precariously on his thighs to avoid coming in contact with—

Kazama breaks the kiss, and Sen's focus is drawn abruptly back to herself and her own body. Still his eyes are closed as his hands wander, oddly tender and tentative, tracing the whole length of her back with light touch. He nestles his face in the crook of her neck, breathing into her, kissing her skin as he embraces her more tightly, and Sen shudders as his fingernails press into her skin.

This, then, is the carnal intoxication of which Kiku spoke.

Sen had her doubts that the body and soul could be so easily separated, but savoring the sensation Kazama offers suddenly seems so much more important than his identity. How many terrible things has he done with the very hands that now grasp her hips, that hoist her higher up in his lap to rub against him? It no longer seems to matter as he shifts in place to create the barest hint of friction between them, swinging his legs out to bend up and support her back.

Hungry kisses trail down her clavicle, independent of his agency and his identity. All that matters in the moment is the feel of lips on skin, tongue on skin. Sen gasps as Kazama nibbles her breast, then stops breathing altogether as his mouth—coy yet demanding—finds her nipple. She has just enough of her wits about her to think that he is not seeking to please her, but rather to remind her of her duty to mother his child, in his own twisted way.

But regardless of his intent, Sen cannot stop a faint mewl from escaping her lips at a flick of his tongue. The telltale prickle of arousal spreads through her being and pools below like liquid lightning, exacerbated by the pressure from his own body, clearly yearning for more. Kazama hesitates as if he had been going to withdraw, but evidently thinks better of it, and presses his mouth even more intently against her skin.

One of Sen's hands moves as if of its own volition to knot itself in the base of Kazama's hair, and he gives a soft vocalization in the back of his throat, pain or pleasure. She shudders at the catch in his breath, the warm wetness of his mouth, his dextrous fingers kneading her other breast. She echoes the motions, massaging the back of his neck, although the hand that grips his shoulder does so only weakly. The rippling of his tongue, the faint scratch of his fingernails, the lightest touches of his teeth tease her, tempt her, too much for her to focus.

Sinking into a sensuous reverie, measured only in labored breaths and quick pulses in more than one place, Sen only notices that Kazama's hand has settled in the curve of her waist as he withdraws it. Leaning back to distance himself briefly, he lets go of her to undo his obi. Sen takes the opportunity to catch her breath, and check to see if his eyes have opened yet.

But, true to his word, they have not. Sen almost finds herself frustrated with his obedience, his restraint. But all thoughts flee her mind as Kazama tugs his yukata from underneath her and parts it in front. It is his only layer, just like hers. Sen stares helplessly for a moment, then jerks her head aside, feeling herself flush as his garment falls away altogether.

"Are you afraid?" laughs Kazama, his chuckle deep and rich and not unpleasant, but the note of arrogance in the sound serves as an uncomfortable reminder of her position. Still, the realization seems shallower than last time, less enduring, and her oath to prove herself a worthy adversary tonight is fresher in her mind.

Rather than respond in words, Sen rests her hands lightly on Kazama's upper chest in the guise of a shy caress or an amorous half-embrace, careful to give no hint of her true objective. As he leans forward, ostensibly for another kiss, she shoves him back with all her limited strength, pulling back her legs to stabilize herself and increase her momentum.

Ordinarily, Kazama could and would overpower Sen effortlessly—but the suddenness of the motion, or perhaps the jarring shift in mood, disarms him. He hits the floor before his body even tenses. Regaining her bearings just as swiftly, she arches over him, her palms pressing into his shoulders to pin him down. For a moment, neither of them stir, but for the rapid shallow movements of his chest… and the black of his pupils expanding to swallow the red.

"Are _you_ afraid?" murmurs Sen, a feverish rush spreading through her body, shortening her breaths and clouding her thoughts with giddy liberation. Kazama once told her that he sees no charm in command, but if this sweet and savage energy racing through her limbs is how it feels, then he must have been lying. Perhaps he has never _known_ true command. After all, Sen has found that the few falsehoods he ever lets pass his lips are those he believes to be truth.

Kazama's lips part slightly, but he does not—or perhaps cannot—respond. Just as Sen could say nothing until he led her to his bed, so has he lost the ability to speak now that she has pushed him onto it. The strength of his shock is unexpected, but understandable. Kazama, as indomitable in his own eyes as in all others, has been dominated.

Yet Sen knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she has only a moment before all his astonishment turns to anger. She slides her hands down his chest to press into his lungs, lowering her haunches until…

They both jump at the first electric contact between them, and Kazama inhales sharply. Biting her lip in concentration, Sen moves her hips just as Kiku taught her: forward and back, forward and back, employing only the lightest touch. Deep breaths, as much to calm herself as to establish a rhythm, her eyes fixed firmly on the center of his chest. Moisture, barely contained, now seeping down. Resisting the impulse to press her legs together out of shame, Sen concentrates on lowering herself cautiously instead.

Not quickly enough for Kazama. "More," he rumbles, his muscles tensing as he begins to sit up, placing his hands on her hips as if to pull her down. But Sen presses her palms further into him, unwilling to surrender her position of power so soon after taking it. Relishing the wariness in his expression as he reluctantly relaxes beneath her, she eases herself onto him… slowly, slowly… until Kazama, the insurmountable, is mounted.

There is a moment of still silence as Sen feels the heat of him inside her, and then she shudders back to life. Her motions become elliptical, almost lemniscates, rising and falling like her breaths. The fit is tight and far from comfortable, let alone pleasurable, but Sen must and will endure it. After the euphoria Kazama could offer just by kissing her in the right places, without insisting on immediate gratification, tolerating him inside her is the least she can do in return.

As Sen gradually gets used to the sensation, her movements become less halting, lither, more fluid. As Kazama's hand slips to rest on her thigh, palm slightly damp, Sen starts. Her eyes jump to his face in search of a reason, but she is far from prepared for the expression she sees. Kazama's countenance is one of awe, as though he is gazing at the night sky for the first time—experiencing something shining and vast and incomprehensible. His eyes are half-closed in the beginnings of pleasure, and for once, there is no trace of hostility or conceit or even impatience behind them.

In that moment, Sen recognizes on his face the same thing she felt for herself as he kissed her chest, and realizes for the first time that the two of them are not so different after all. Demons, like humans, are creatures of the senses. Through these allegedly shallow pleasures, there is a hidden connection, deeper than any other. As this truth passes wordlessly through her mind, her body, her very being, she recognizes for the first time why they call it making love.

Perhaps that is why she weakens, sinking further down. A pinprick and a dull throb; a gasp more of surprise than pain; a wound even her demon blood can never heal—and Kazama finally stands in her to the hilt.

Sensing the break, his eyes widen slightly, and he frowns as if stirred from some dream, focusing on her with apparent difficulty. "Sen," he says huskily, and she stops her movements. Has he ever called her by name before? "Was that…?"

Sen nods, feeling the heat flood even faster to her cheeks, and can think of nothing else to do but start moving again. Kazama props himself up on his elbows, but makes no move to interrupt her. He only stares, a slow but obvious flush spreading across his face as well. Sen closes her eyes for the sake of concentration, and pretends his are closed too, although she can still feel his gaze scorching her body.

Circles, now, starting slowly, and under the lingering ache, she thinks she might even _feel_ something. Not enjoyable enough to be called pleasure, but any sensation is better than the half-numb sense of over-fullness to which she is by now accustomed. She expected Kazama to fight her for dominance, but he seems to be in a trance, unbreakable, motionless but for the rise and fall of his chest—irregular at times, or strangled, before he remembers to clear it again.

His hand begins to burn on her thigh, and Sen moves it for the sake of her comfort. However, as the pressure of her wrist collides with her own forward motion, she gasps as heat blossoms in front—a spark, unprecedented and exciting. Cautiously, she moves again, arranging Kazama's hand just so, grateful for the darkness of her closed eyes to conceal the impropriety of such an act.

 _Yes_. Each of her motions brings with it a better sensation now, and Sen picks up her pace unconsciously, confident in her eagerness to chase those tiny pulses. But just as she establishes her newest rhythm, Kazama presses his thumb into her harder, and Sen falters, her breath hitching. As Kazama gives a brief exhalation a little like a chuckle, she dares to open her eyes once more to find him smirking.

Adjusting to his new position, Sen keeps her eyes half-open to make sure Kazama behaves himself. Senses sharper than ever, she notices an eventual twitch of his fingers, a spasm in his torso, a glance at the wall, and senses his intentions as clear as day. He means to flip her over, as though he could do any better for her on top.

"Don't you _dare_ ," hisses Sen, bucking her hips more aggressively to prove a point, and Kazama's attention snaps abruptly back to her. "You took over—my entire life—by marrying me. If I cannot—stay in control of—that, I will take charge of— _this_."

Kazama narrows his eyes in displeasure. "You have no right," he says, although his statement is made slightly less firm by his inhalation at the end, as Sen digs her fingernails into his chest by way of warning. She has just as much right as he, if not more, and they both know it… so she elects to ignore him.

"Isn't this what you—told me to do?" asks Sen, with a shrug of her shoulders and a toss of her hair. "Make the most of—my situation?" She rolls her hips, leaning forward to push Kazama flat against the futon, her motions becoming small and quick. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she repeats his wedding-day words back to him. " _I only took the initiative and claimed what I want._ _One way or another, I expect you to deal with it._ "

Kazama's eyes blaze, and he opens his mouth furiously to argue, but only for a moment. Sen snaps back and starts in again before he has the chance, and his argument dissolves into a curse instead. His hand has moved from its proper place, so she makes to move it back, but rather than permit her to do so, Kazama grasps both her wrists and pulls her down again, strength belying the vulnerability of his position.

"Your mouth is pretty," murmurs Kazama, gaze flicking down to Sen's lips and back up to her eyes again. "A pity it's so impertine—imperti— _fuck_!" He jerks his head aside, grip slackening, as she places all her weight abruptly on her hindquarters to force him deeper into her.

She takes advantage of his distraction to sit up and move freely, forgetting about herself for the time being. All that matters now is to finish Kazama before he thinks to use all his abundant power to take control. "I will not allow—!" he begins ferociously, seizing her waist as if meaning to throw her off, but Sen trails her fingernails down his chest, and his words become a labored gasp and then a groan.

Her legs and feet cramp with the effort of keeping up the pace, her knees ache, and her pulse races in two places, warning her to slow down lest she exhaust herself entirely, but she ignores them. All discomfort is irrelevant. There can be no greater satisfaction for her than forcing Kazama to lose his carefully maintained control.

A few more motions, intense and persistent, and their fit becomes tighter still, Kazama's grip on her hips growing simultaneously tenser and more tremulous. " _Sen_ ," he growls, bestial in his urgency, eyes burning. Flickering gold, now, as his hair washes white. "Let me—!" His voice cracks, and he abandons all attempt at speech as Sen grasps his newly manifested outer horns, using them to stabilize herself as she keeps moving. She has no breath to respond, anyway, and actions speak louder than—

" _No_ ," hisses Kazama, straining against something invisible, and one hand drops to his side to clutch at the futon. His head tosses as if in the midst of a fever-dream. Scowling and squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain or tremendous effort, he lets out an incoherent vocalization through bared teeth, edged with a sound almost like a whine or a whimper—equal parts frustration and euphoria. Sen stills to accommodate his climax, something shifting subtly inside her moments before a rapid pulsation she had not noticed ebbs away.

Sen takes some time to catch her breath, although Kazama's breathing evens more quickly than hers. His hair turns gradually blond again, and when he finally opens his eyes, Sen finds them red and unfocused as he glares at her, but when she only offers a smile in return, his lip twitches into a halfhearted snarl, and he turns his face away as if unable to hold the expression for long.

Caught up in studying Kazama's face, Sen realizes with a jolt that she is still sitting atop him, and clambers off hastily to stretch out her legs. After so long together, the emptiness inside her feels strange. Though she misses the little sparks of pleasure, to expand them into something so overwhelming feels like more trouble than it is worth.

Sen only notices that she is staring at the door when Kazama reaches out for her wrist. "Sen," he says, his grip shaky and somewhat damp, but just as strong as his voice. "Your obligation is not yet fulfilled."

"I… what?" asks Sen faintly, nonplussed and more than a little alarmed. She still cannot think straight; what more is there to offer him now? Sleeping in Kazama's bed is not part of their arrangement…

Kazama smiles thinly. "Surely you don't think you can just _leave_ after what you did?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, and continues very slowly, as if spelling a simple thing out for her. "I mean to do the same for you." The somewhat cruel amusement in his tone tells Sen that his motivation for finishing her is no more pure than hers was. He only wishes to see her as vulnerable as he was in her eyes, to force her to lose control.

"I assume my consent has no place in this," mutters Sen, half to herself, and knows she assumes correctly when Kazama's only reply is to pull her back by the wrist and throw her back down on his futon.

For a moment, he simply looks down at her—probably more pleased with his position over her than with her appearance—and Sen finds herself admiring him despite herself. The way his hair hangs down to frame his face, the slight sheen of perspiration on his skin and the ripple of his muscles beneath… Truly, he _is_ a handsome man. And besides that, the part of her so recently awakened _does_ call for completion.

"Kazama-san," breathes Sen, even before she realizes she has spoken, and something flashes across his face too quickly for her to see. Pride, perhaps, or even ardor. "Kiss me again. H-here." She lays her hand delicately upon her breast, though modesty still forbids her to be any more explicit than that.

Kazama tilts his head slightly, and Sen half thinks he might refuse, but then he bows it to obey without a word. Sen relaxes into the sensation despite herself, closing her eyes and focusing on her other senses. His mouth is clumsier now, less coordinated in his afterglow, but the pleasure he offers is just as sweet. And it is only amplified after his fingers find her below. They skim the surface at first in an echo of her own teasing, then push slowly further, exploratory, inquisitive.

Learning her own patterns and reactions alongside him, Sen eventually fumbles for his hand to guide him in the right direction, although even after all Kiku's careful description, she herself remembers little in the moment about exactly which way that is. Still, with her help, she can tell that Kazama is getting closer—always closer—and that it's just a matter of time, and patience, and his tongue on her skin.

And then, as he curls his fingers experimentally forward, she spasms and gasps, eyes flying open to take in Kazama looking just as surprised as she, lifting his head from her chest. He halts for a second, glancing down as though unsure whether he could really have elicited such a clear reaction, and repeats the motion. Again Sen shudders, and this time, Kazama smiles a strangely genuine smile, lowering himself still further over her. She can feel the heat rolling off his body in waves, although his breath on her damp skin cools her down immediately.

Over and over, Kazama moves his fingers in just the right spot, and she rocks her hips to create a rhythm, wanting to tell him to do it faster. But she can't seem to form coherent words, so she decides it is better for her dignity not to try. If indeed she can _decide_ anything in a state like this—there are no thoughts anymore—only the purest bodily desire to reach the height of—

Finally, she convulses, writhes beneath Kazama, inhales so sharply she almost chokes, and lets out a brief panting cry as much in surprise as ecstasy. A tide of fire washes over her in waves, sparkling and undulating, now more intense, now less, until it dissipates into exhausted satisfaction.

Kazama's fingers twitch slightly as he withdraws them slowly, and she jerks out of sensitivity, then frowns as she notices hazily that he looks almost disappointed. "You didn't…" he begins, wiping his fingers dispassionately on his discarded yukata, but does not finish the sentence. He only sits back on his haunches, heaves a sigh, and stares sullenly at the nearest wall. Sen thinks she knows what he means. However intense the pleasure rushing through her may have been, it was still not enough to encourage her to embrace her true form.

"Kazama-san," murmurs Sen, stirring, and nudges his arm with her foot none too gently to deter him from sulking. "You have always had a quicker temper. That's all." Had she been truly angry with him, as he had been with her, Sen might have allowed her true form to consume her without a second thought… although now that she knows how much it means to him, she will put forth the extra effort to ensure it never surfaces.

Kazama's gaze swivels over to her in some surprise, and Sen marvels at the ease with which she can endure it now, considering her initial self-consciousness. "Are you thinking of all the unnecessary _work_ you just did?" she asks quietly, pushing herself gingerly into a sitting position, and meets his eyes far more easily than she ever could have dreamed. "Did you gain nothing from—?"

"No," says Kazama, with all the confident immediacy of truth, although he looks away from her as he speaks. His embarrassment is well-disguised as contemplation, but he cannot prevent his cheeks from flushing. "I was thinking… how beautiful your true form must be. That's all." It is the closest thing to a genuine compliment he has ever offered, and Sen cannot help but smile in response.

There is a long and oddly comfortable silence before Sen finally breaks it. "I… want to watch the moonrise," she says, the words springing unbidden to her lips. Why does she say the words that might condemn her to his company still longer? Why does she not simply walk away, leaving Kazama to his futon alone? He seems just as disarmed by her tacit and half-unintentional offer, and merely looks at her for a moment. Guardedly, as though he expects her to lure him into the path of an assassin.

His answer, mercifully, is not the one Sen expects. "Go, then," says Kazama, lying back. Just for a moment, he rests his hand on the flat of her belly, perhaps unconsciously thinking of the child he will put there someday. "And don't come back again tonight. I have… some things… I'd like to commit to memory."

Sen smiles at Kazama hesitantly, grateful despite herself. Climax has put him in a remarkably lenient mood; she will have to remember this for later. "As you wish, Kazama-san," she says, half-sweet, half-sarcastic, and retrieves her robe from the floor a little distance away. He frowns at her as she throws it on and ties her obi, but says nothing, only gestures vaguely to his door. Almost carelessly.

Moving on quick feet, Sen pauses to glance back at him, only to find him staring fixedly at the ceiling, unseeing. There is the faintest trace of a smile on his lips, but something about it seems melancholy, or bitter. It was easy, in the heat of the moment, for them to forget themselves and each other. Sen has no doubt that, cooling down, Kazama is trying to reconcile the moment they shared with the dislike and disdain he has so often before made clear. And later tonight, she will have to do the same.

Perhaps, thinks Sen, closing the door behind her with a strange sense of sympathy, they are not so different after all.


	2. cloudburst

The only thing that convinces Kazama that he ever fell asleep last night is the unmistakable sensation of awakening.

Eased into consciousness by sunlight on his face, Kazama turns away and opens his eyes gradually. His mind is strangely numb, although—like feeling flooding back into a lifeless limb—as his memories from last evening return, so too does the same snarl of emotions. Displeasure and contentment, indignation and gratification, all swirl in his head, so closely entwined as to be inseparable, but they seem to move more slowly in the dawn.

Perhaps, now that time has put more distance between Kazama and the events of last evening, he may be able to disentangle them at last and free himself.

Taking a deep breath, he resolves to begin with an objective assessment. The outcome of their endeavor _was_ undeniably favorable; all that remains is to repeat it until his wife finally conceives. Still, Kazama finds that he cannot shake the feeling that not all is right with his world. Had such sweet success been on his own terms, he might feel differently, but as it is, what ought to be called a victory instead unnerves him as little has ever done before.

It is not that Sen seized control that alarms Kazama most, but that he did not correct her presumption. After she delayed their wedding night for so long, he ought to have taught her a lesson, but could not bring himself to do so. Her inexplicable expertise, a stark contrast to her obvious innocence; her earnest defiance, subverted by adherence to her duty; the complexities of her own hidden desires—they aroused more than his curiosity.

Kazama could have reversed their positions as easily as breathing, and they both knew it, but by the time his consciousness wrested itself from Sen's grip long enough to truly resist her, it was already too late. His true appearance, his most powerful and vulnerable of forms, took over his being. Had it been his wife's doing, or had his own inner conflict elicited it? All that matters is that his body betrayed him in the end, and hers did not.

As his own true form ebbed away, his desire for completion was replaced by an intense and violent yearning to see her the same way. Kazama has always considered pleasure a game, although he has never seen fit to play it before, and Sen's climax last night indicates that he is naturally adept. However, any boost in ego he may ordinarily feel at the revelation of his prowess is overshadowed by bitter and irrational disappointment. Any effect other than the one he seeks, even a positive one, is inherently infuriating.

Making an effort to step back from his emotions for a moment, Kazama supposes that his newfound preoccupation with seeing Sen adopt her true form is an odd one. After all, he _has_ seen it before, if only for the split second before the fake, now nameless in death, compelled her to stab him. Still, if Sen presumes to tell him that their marriage is unequal, then let him see her as she truly is, just the same as she saw him.

And that leads him immediately to his next problem: Sen's unseemly behavior. He always knew that a woman with a mind of her own would bring him nothing but trouble, and that instinct had been no small part of his initial decision to marry Chizuru—a demon as pure in mind as in bloodline. Even considering her disproportionate level of resistance to the idea, and the effort required to fend off her guard dogs in the Shinsengumi, taking her out of the humans' custody was a welcome challenge. Trying to understand Sen is decidedly _not_.

Given his title and responsibilities, Kazama supposes that any match made for love was always an idle fantasy, and he has never aspired to such things anyway. Still, there have been a few moments scattered throughout his life when his heart aches for something it has never known, and this is one of them. His gift to Sen may be far less tangible than her equivalent to him, but it is just as priceless and irreplaceable. Knowing that she will never once think on its value casts an unexpected shadow over his soul.

Letting out a faint half-groan, Kazama stirs at last, stretching and yawning and running his hands through his hair to distract himself. Sitting up at last, he presses his fingers into his eyes so that the colors explode behind them, but he sees only the blinding white of Sen's slip, bursting unbidden into his mind once more. What did she mean by coming into her husband's room dressed like _that_?

Upon hearing her knock, Kazama half expected not to recognize his wife. Sen could easily have taken last night as an opportunity to show off herself and her finery, winning her power by seducing him into surrender. As Sen spent the previous days in isolation, Kazama prepared himself for that kind of subtle manipulation, rehearsing over and over in shapeless thoughts how he could allow her the illusion of control without relinquishing it at all.

But instead, he turned around to find the same girl as ever, barely dressed, multicolored eyes now glimmering a dull rose in fear and determination. Every inch of her was immaculately groomed. Her straight glossy hair cascaded down her back and shone dark in the lamplight, and her skin was smooth and soft and perfumed. Yet, despite her decency, it seemed to Kazama that Sen appeared demure in _spite_ of herself, rather than because of anything she did deliberately. A feral spirit dwelled within that delicate body.

And, perhaps because her beauty struck him as so natural and genuine, Kazama found that he could hardly take his eyes off her. Sen made no attempt to disguise herself, nor did she demonstrate any hint of deceit in her demeanor. Rather, an aura of shy and subdued yet self-assured ferocity shimmered around her like midsummer heat. It was as if she meant to remind him in some paradoxical way that _this_ was the woman he married: rebellious and untamed.

In a word, Sen was an enigma, so bewildering to the senses that Kazama lost them somewhere inside her.

Releasing the pressure on his eyes, he blinks until his sight is restored, a new resolution coming slowly into focus. Sen's will may have been stronger than he expected, but only because Kazama's was weak. If he can prove that he is just as formidable an opponent at heart, she may yet falter, and allow him to take his rightful place above her. And if he speaks with her in broad daylight, before she can turn the sensuality of night to her advantage…

Kazama smiles to himself, his course of action decided. The gods only know what Sen has been thinking in _her_ time alone, but he intends to find out.

Getting to his feet, Kazama dresses himself in a clean yukata and quickly rinses his hands. He will bathe himself properly later, but for now, there is an urgent conversation that needs to be had before all his power of reason disappears once more. As he steps out into the hall and glances around, he smiles as an approaching acquaintance catches his eye. Despite his distaste for the woman, this is a fortuitous meeting indeed.

"Kimigiku," he says, standing in the middle of the hall to block her path as she draws closer. "Where is Sen?"

But Kimigiku does not even trouble to bow her head as she finally stops before him, and the look she tosses him is just shy of a glare. "If my lady has not informed you of her whereabouts, then I doubt she wishes you to know them. My lips are sealed."

Kazama narrows his eyes. "I asked you a question, woman," he growls, crossing his arms, and shifts his stance into a subtly more menacing position. Kimigiku has opposed their match from the beginning, in the usual selfish insolence that so often accompanies the personal feelings arising from blind loyalty. "And I want you to tell me the answer."

"I answer to no one except the Princess," retorts Kimigiku, eyes flashing. "Least of all _you_."

"I am her consort," says Kazama, more and more irritable. If he cannot even intimidate Sen's maidservant, then he will never be able to win an argument with the princess herself. "Therefore, you will do as I ask and _tell me where my wife is_." He is careful to enunciate, leaving no room for doubt or misinterpretation. This is not a question, but a command.

Kimigiku's eyes widen slightly, but Kazama cannot discern the emotion hidden behind them until she speaks. "You know I neither like nor trust you," she says, looking Kazama directly in the eye. "I fail to see why that should change simply because you married my lady. If anything, it makes me think even less of you—if such a thing is possible."

Stepping forward furiously, Kazama opens his mouth to respond, the beginnings of cold rage freezing his heart over. But before he can say anything… "Okiku," says Sen's voice, even as ever, from somewhere behind her. "Please stand down."

"My lady," protests Kimigiku, eyeing Kazama with a mixture of mistrust and anxiety as she shifts into what is unmistakably a defensive position. Kazama frowns at the gesture, realizing all at once that her impudence stems from her misguided attempts to protect Sen. It seems she earnestly believes him a threat in some way, despite his oath of alliance.

However, rather than fanning the flames of Kazama's anger, this new understanding elicits an emotion almost like longing. However obnoxious her attitude may be, Kimigiku has at least found someone for whom she is wholeheartedly willing to risk everything. Never having found such a worthy cause, he envies that kind of volunteered investment. He may sacrifice a great number of things for the sake of fulfilling his duty, but only because it is necessary and expected of him. His life has never had a purpose of his own choosing.

" _Leave_ us, Kimigiku," says Sen, more authoritatively, her words stirring Kazama out of his thoughts. Kimigiku stiffens, more at the use of her full alias on her lady's lips than at her tone of voice. Though she hesitates a moment longer, Kimigiku finally gives a reluctant bow, tosses Kazama a last impudent glare, and takes her leave as instructed.

"Kazama-san," says Sen, and although she does not bow, the suffix is enough to soothe him in the moment. Even though she is properly dressed at last—albeit in plain clothing—she looks just as radiant as last night, if a little tired. (As well she should be, thinks Kazama.) "I do hope you have a good reason for badgering her like that."

"And I hope _you_ have a good reason for failing to discipline your attendants," says Kazama smoothly; Sen narrows her eyes, her brow creasing in the beginnings of a petulant scowl. "I was looking for you."

"That is _not_ a good reason," says Sen, crossing her arms, and raises her eyebrows. "And just why were you looking for me?" Her voice is cool, but there is something fragile about it, like she speaks through a porcelain mask. Through it, her eyes are faraway; in the morning sunshine, they are a dull and melancholy amber—a stark contrast from the bolder, brighter shade of rose he saw last night.

Sen sounds so suspicious, he may as well indulge her; if she wants to think of him as the villain of her particular story, so be it. "To make sure you haven't run away again," says Kazama, unable to help but roll his eyes at the very idea. Sen was raised with the same values as any demon of noble birth. He knows better than to think she will try to escape her responsibility in any more permanent sense than procrastinating. "No—because I want to _talk_ to you."

He was joking, but Sen's eyes flash in annoyance, and she opens her mouth even before he finishes revealing the real reason. "I was not _running away_ ," she says, stung, and Kazama knows from her tone that he has hit a sore spot. "By delaying our wedding night, I intended to teach you patience, and respect. I see now that I may as well have taken you the first night, for all the good it did."

Kazama tilts his head at her unconventional choice of phrase. "So _you_ took _me_ ," he says, frowning, and Sen nods once. "The same might be said in reverse." However educated she may have been, neither of them had gone half so far before. Kazama cannot forget the resistance, traces of her precious blood he'd found last night.

"And so it might, if you had been in control," says Sen, stretching irreverently, although there is something nervous about the gesture. "But alas, you were not—and you had better get used to that." Sen draws herself up to her full height, somehow managing to look down at Kazama despite being several inches shorter. "I will continue to take the lead in our _interactions_ until such time as I permit you to do otherwise."

As Kazama stares at her, his lips part slightly as if in preparation for speech, but several seconds pass before he can find his voice. He expected her to have come to all sorts of incorrect conclusions based on their time together last night, but this is not one of them. Even after Kazama regains his capacity for speech, the only word that escapes his mouth is a breathless, incredulous " _What_?"

"You heard me." Sen's expression is more serious than he has ever seen it before; almost deadly. A lesser man might flinch, but Kazama is instead bolstered by his growing rage. Does she really believe a direct attempt to seize all control indefinitely will go unchallenged? Especially as he approached her with the express purpose of ensuring that such a thing did _not_ happen!

"I see no reason—" begins Kazama furiously, but is not allowed to continue.

" _You_ wouldn't," interrupts Sen dryly, and he halts, more out of shock that she would dare to cut him off than in any desire to listen to her. "But whether or not you see a reason is irrelevant, because this is not a request. I am not asking you; I am _telling_ you: I will be the one in charge."

Kazama begins to say _You have no right_ , but the sensation of fingernails on his flesh and the sound of labored breaths flash through his head and threaten to drown out all else as he recalls saying the same phrase last night. "I did not agree to this," he hisses, amending his phrasing for the sake of self-preservation. He cannot afford to think on such things now.

Sen only tilts her head, an almost cruel glint in her eyes. "That's interesting," she says, her tone anything but interested. "I didn't agree to marry you in the first place, yet here we stand, man and wife. Oh, I _conceded_ ," she adds, sensing Kazama's impending retort that her signature proves otherwise. "But it was not what I wanted, and you know it."

Kazama grits his teeth. Dwelling on what they want is foolish now that they are wed, as was always inevitable. Neither of them can alter their circumstances, only make the most of what they have. But, more importantly… "I owe you nothing," says Kazama, narrowing his eyes. "I did us both a favor by marrying you, and you know it."

"Then you admit that this marriage is something you desired," says Sen, her tone hovering between matter-of-fact and scathing.

"Of course it isn't!" exclaims Kazama, curling his fingers into fists. Who could possibly want this? "I never sought this! My advisors pressured me as much as I _apparently_ pressured you." He places delicate emphasis on the word, careful not to validate such an unreasonable conclusion. He only rejected her proposal because his was superior. He did not push her to accept him, but rather helped her see sense. She could have walked away if she so chose.

"Oh, very apparently indeed," laughs Sen sardonically, the sound icy and smooth like a knife in winter. "I will admit that this decision may not be entirely on your shoulders, but ask yourself this. Had we _both_ resisted the idea, and borne a child out of wedlock, do you really think anyone could have stopped us?"

"Our clans might have deemed such an act improper and ousted one or both of us if we went through with it," snaps Kazama, more and more frustrated with her willful ignorance. "You know that."

"You are _far_ more concerned about your status and ranking than you have led me to believe," says Sen acidly. "And that makes me wonder about the extent to which you are using me. Not only as the eventual mother of your child, but as the Princess of Yase. You have used my title to satisfy your advisors and further your own ambition." Her eyes burn. "Can you deny it?"

"I can and I will," snaps Kazama. "Don't act as though you have gained nothing from this marriage. Let me remind you, _once again_ , that through me, you have acquired strong and much-needed ties to the most powerful clan in western Japan. If we hadn't been engaged, the imperial scouts never would have stopped their visits. Before long, the emperor and his men would have come after you and yours, demanding your allegiance and servitude, and you'd have had to accept the humans' terms… or die." Kazama looks at her evenly. "Is _that_ what you would have preferred?"

Sen only stares through him to some imagined horror that might have been, a spark of fear taking shape in her eyes. In the moment, it blinds her so that such a grisly outcome is all she sees. "Is that a threat, Kazama?" she asks, her tone hushed, and—after he gets over his confusion—he almost laughs. True, he _could_ lead the humans directly to Yase and walk out of the chaos unharmed, but to do so would be to cast aside everything it means to be a demon.

"Kazama- _san_ ," he corrects her, and fury is too mild a word to describe the expression that flashes across her face in response, although it is gone too quickly for him to get a good look at it. "And no, it isn't. Do you really think so ill of me that you believe I'd break a sacred oath of protection to resolve a disagreement as petty as this? My demon pride would never allow it."

"Forgive my assumption, but one can never be sure with you," says Sen, more than a little defensively, and her eyes have become angry slits. "Your _demon pride_ has an unfortunate tendency to make you act like a spoiled child and throw extremely dangerous tantrums whenever someone takes away your favorite toy."

"And just what is this favorite toy of mine?" asks Kazama softly.

"Power," says Sen, narrowing her eyes. "You told me once that you don't care for it, but if that were so, you would not be up in arms at the idea of surrendering it to me for an hour out of every night. And _perhaps_ ," she adds, more viciously, "you might even have gone against the wishes of your clan, and listened to my own instead—and we might all be a little happier for it."

"Oh, so this _is_ all my fault," growls Kazama, crossing his arms. "I was under the impression you'd decided to blame our advisors, too. My mistake."

"Whatever hand they had in the matter is much weaker than yours," retorts Sen, flaring up. "Had you not urged me to marry you, I could have overruled your advisors and even mine, but there was no way I could ignore the counsel of two clans _and_ my prospective match." She gives the ghost of a smile, sudden, disquieting. "Perhaps it's a good thing you feel like my insistence on this matter is unfair. Now you know how I feel about our union as a whole."

"And just what are you going to do to stop me if I decide you belong beneath me instead?" asks Kazama, stepping closer in a single measured step to gauge how she reacts. "You can't hope to overpower me." It was only the surprise that kept him immobilized last night. If he can overcome that and maintain his conscious thoughts this time…

Sen shifts in place, but stands her ground, and even meets his eyes, almost as though she's seeing straight through to his soul. "If last night is any indication, yes, I can," she says, and Kazama knows she is not talking about her physical capability so much as the unnatural sway she held over his psyche. "And don't forget that no matter how pure your blood may be, I still outrank you. These are the terms of our union, whether you like them or not." She smiles, but her eyes are frigid, and her body is tense. "I advise you to make your peace with them."

Kazama stares at her, dumbfounded by her absolute confidence. Whether this new, more fiery attitude stems from her actions last night, or last night was indicative of her true temperament, Kazama has no way of knowing. All that matters is that this is not the shy, submissive girl he anticipated. At least, not outwardly. The longer he looks at her, the more visibly uncomfortable she becomes under his gaze, and he begins to notice her shallow breathing, a subtle tremor, a rapid swallow.

"So you _are_ afraid," murmurs Kazama, and strangely, his anger ebbs away again at the realization. Sen is clinging to whatever control she can find, lashing out at him like a cornered animal. In that respect, he has never truly lost any influence over her, even if her reactions are not the ones he expected.

"No more afraid than you are," says Sen, coloring slightly. "If indeed our only objective is to produce an heir, then I expect you not to complain about trivialities." She glares at him, and he returns the gesture easily as his annoyance rekindles. Why must she always make it so difficult for him to sympathize? "The chances that I will conceive are no lower than if I let you have your way."

Kazama opens his mouth to inform her that neither are the chances higher, but he shuts it again with some difficulty and heaves a sigh instead. There is no way he will be able to push his point any further until he has the chance to do so in a more literal sense. "Where were you?"

Sen blinks in momentary surprise at the sudden regression in topic, but recovers quickly, and raises her eyebrows. "Last night, you told me to get out and stay out," she says, her voice edged with a perplexingly harsh note. "I assumed you didn't care what I did with my time. My apologies for failing to read your mind."

"Answer the question, Sen," says Kazama. Evading the truth is too close to lying for his refined tastes, and she and her people have never been as forthright as he in all the time he has known them. He supposes idly that such secrecy is to be expected of a network of spies.

Rather than obey, Sen only stares at him for several seconds in furious incredulity, although she relents before long. "I was _bathing_ , if that's all right with you," she snaps. "I worked up something of a sweat last night, you know, and I can't stand your scent on my body." She rolls her eyes, giving a perhaps exaggerated shudder. "And besides, I assume you'll want me again tonight."

"Of course I don't _want_ you," snorts Kazama. If he _wanted_ her, he would have immediately accepted Amagiri's explanation of her eligibility, pursued her from the beginning, and never thought twice about Yukimura Chizuru. As it is, theirs is a marriage of convenience and of necessity. _Want_ has nothing to do with it. "If you think for a moment that I care about you in the slightest, or about anything other than producing an heir to my clan, think again."

"You know what I mean," hisses Sen, and perhaps it's the sunlight, but for a moment, her hair looks white. "I am your wife, Kazama- _san_ , and I refuse to stand here and be insulted like this any longer. I told you once already that we have the rest of our married lives to procreate, and I meant it. You can sleep alone until you can speak civilly, for all I care!"

Kazama frowns, taken aback. There is no uncivility in truth, and he is certain that Sen feels the same way about him, considering the number of nights she put him off. Still, he has by now learned that continuing to argue after Sen lets her emotions take over her reason never works out in his favor. "You liked it," says Kazama instead. "What I did for you, last night."

Sen looks at him carefully for a moment, as if ascertaining whether he is serious, then laughs darkly. "If you think I need you for anything other than your promise to protect my people, or that I spend even a moment in your company because I want to, _think again_."

"And you say I'm using _you_ ," mutters Kazama, but Sen is already storming past him.

A faint aroma, sweet and spicy, drifts after her, and Kazama sighs, rubbing his face in his hand. _That_ could definitely have gone better. But then again, had he not confronted her, he may not have realized her true intentions until too late. As it is, Sen has given him ample warning, and he has the rest of the day to strategize.

But Kazama finds that the hours slip uselessly from his grasp, like the silk cravat he cast aside months ago, along with his ties to humankind. Taking into account Sen's unpredictability, Kazama discovers before long that there is little he can do to brace himself for whatever tonight may bring. All that remains is to wait for the sun to make its way to the west, and to prepare for every eventuality.

As soon as dusk falls, Kazama makes his way to Sen's room to finish their fight, a thousand pointless possibilities still racing through his head. Last night, their roles were not yet fixed, and that knowledge made it easier to try them out. Now that their stances have solidified through open discussion, their dance will no longer be mysterious and instinctive, but carefully calculated, covetous, even cruel. Rather than allow one another the satisfaction of playing the captor, they have instead chosen to cage themselves.

Kazama comes to a halt outside Sen's door, and waits. If her ears are half as sharp as her tongue, she knows she is there, but she does not acknowledge his presence over several silent moments, even after he clears his throat to announce himself.

"Sen," says Kazama finally, leaning against the wall. "I know you're in there."

"I thought you didn't _want_ me." Sen's response is immediate, her voice sharp and bitter. It sounds almost as though she has been crying, but Kazama doubts she would ever let herself do so on his account. "Why are you here?"

"Amagiri says we should talk," says Kazama, ascribing no agency to himself. The last time he announced his wish to speak with Sen, she refused to listen. Perhaps, if she believes this to be entirely on the terms of a neutral third party, things might go more smoothly. Though Kazama had not sought his counsel, he is grateful for it now that it has lent him a convenient and truthful excuse.

"We tried that earlier," says Sen, her tone flat and dismissive and falsely indifferent, leaving no room for compromise. If this is the way she wants it, then so be it, but Kazama has little patience for her lack of flexibility. One way or another, she will give him what she owes.

"How long are you going to be angry?" asks Kazama, crossing his arms and leaning his head back against the wall with a dull and frustrated _thunk_. "I'd prefer to get this over with sooner rather than later."

There is a moment of silence, the cold and forbidding calm before a storm, before the thunder rolls.

"Do you really not understand?" bursts out Sen, almost sobbing. "Do you not see the sacrifices I've made for the sake of a union that's making me miserable? Do you not know how painfully obvious you make it, every second I spend in your company, how little regard you have for me and my wishes? If you've decided to be my husband, _Kazama_ , you need to act like one."

"And if you're going to be my wife," retorts Kazama, stung, " _you_ need to know your place." How can a demon of a lineage as prestigious as hers be so selfish and immature? Does she not understand that their personal opinions are irrelevant, and that happiness has no place in their arrangement? Can she not glean some small satisfaction from the knowledge that she is fulfilling her duty, as he has tried to do?

" _I never wanted to be your wife_!" cries Sen, her voice practically a shriek now, and Kazama winces as it grates against his nerves. "I _never_ , not once, asked for this! I did not marry you so you can treat me like a slave in my own village—in my own house!"

"Keep your voice down," growls Kazama, glancing around in search of eavesdroppers. If any of her people hear this argument, they will undoubtedly take Sen's side, and his reputation is already bad enough in this village without anyone spreading misconstrued corroboration.

"Make me!" shouts Sen, and Kazama stops breathing, going rigid in the icy shock of sudden rage. How dare she speak to him like that while he is trying to smooth things over! "I don't care if all of Japan hears me! You are _the_ cruelest, unworthiest, most egotistical—"

The blood roars in Kazama's ears, drowning out her insults, a split second before he snaps open the door… and then, it drains steadily down instead.

Sen has her back to him, and is still spitting indistinct obscenities—but, contrary to the hatred her curses imply, it is clear that she is struggling to undo her obi, so viciously that Kazama is surprised that none of the fabric rips. Heedless of his presence, Sen flings her obi aside and starts removing the rest of her clothing as hastily as though it is ablaze.

Something more than fury stirs Kazama's blood as he stares at her, transfixed by her motions. Any offense she might have committed vanishes from his mind, the shard of ice in his heart its only trace. And even that seems to be melting fast.

Catching her last layer at her elbows so that only her upper back is exposed, Sen tosses a haughty glance over her shoulder. "Oh, so you _do_ enjoy my company," she says, a slightly mocking twist to her voice. In the back of Kazama's conscious thoughts, already slipping into dormancy, it occurs to him that she has laid an elaborate trap. By shocking him into stillness, Sen has given him little choice but to concede her ridiculous point, or humiliate himself by leaving.

Getting what he wants will be made much easier if Kazama obliges her this once, murmurs his rapid pulse, and all his inconsiderate pride be damned. Making up whatever is left of his mind, he stumbles forward as though someone shoved him, and—recovering himself quickly—snaps the door shut behind him. It is not a graceful entrance, but at least his course is decided.

Sen's only reaction is to tilt her head, and Kazama catches himself fidgeting in discomfort. "I…" he begins, somewhat more vaguely than he would like, and coughs faintly as he realizes that he has no idea _how_ to humor her. "Hypothetically, let's say I _do_ ," he continues eventually, unable to meet her eyes for more reasons than one. "Is that… agreeable… to you?"

"Could it be," muses Sen, turning slightly in place, "that you are trying to reconcile with me, Kazama-san?" He supposes dimly that he should be furious that she is only now understanding this, but instead, h shivers at the softness of the suffix on her lips, back at last. But just as he realizes suddenly that perhaps an answer is required of him, Sen gives a light and airy laugh, beckoning him forward. "If that were true, then _hypothetically_ , I would let you come closer."

Kazama has been standing still long enough that the first motion feels like shattering a spell, and he approaches only warily. The contrast between this noble demon and the tentative creature that arrived at his door this time last night is nothing short of astonishing. As he moves forward as if in a dream, his slow unsteady heartbeat shakes him to his core, its most passionate pulsations provoked by—what? Her indifferent confidence? Her apathetic courage?

"And once you were hypothetically closer, what would you do?" asks Sen. Though she seems fearless as ever, speaking with a small smile, Kazama discovers upon further investigation that she is trembling, and the recognition of her vulnerability serves to encourage him. His instinct was correct after all; there is still a chance for him to take control…

"I'd—hypothetically—kiss you," says Kazama, keeping his head with some difficulty as Sen steps dizzyingly toward him. _He must not allow her to control him_. This alone stands out in his mind, although the peculiar silence expanding in his head almost overwhelms that too as she finally shrugs off her last remaining layer.

Electricity shoots through Kazama's fingertips as he reaches for Sen's bare shoulders to draw her forward, and he bends his head to press his mouth hungrily to hers. Relishing the catch in her breath, he can almost hear her heart skip a beat. His eyes slip shut, his hands slipping to her back to press her against him, deepening their kiss on his terms alone, hot and clumsy—ah, Sen, so sweetly submissive at last—

But just as he slides his hands farther down, Sen breaks the kiss, although she does not stop his impatient investigation of her curves. "K-Kazama-san," she breathes, her mouth no more than an inch away from his. He moves to close the distance once more, but her grip on the hair at the back of his neck tightens to hold him back, and his throat closes up. "Are you holding a wakizashi to my belly because you're anticipating the joys of fatherhood, or do you _want_ me?"

It takes a moment before Kazama understands Sen's words, but his jaw tightens as he catches her meaning. Her voice may tremble slightly, stabilized only through careful enunciation, but there is a warning undercurrent beneath the trepidation. One which tells him in no uncertain terms that if he does not give her the answer she wants, he will sleep on his own, as she threatened earlier.

Sen has cornered Kazama, and it makes him all the more desperate to fight back. One obviously leads to the other, but the implications of her question are… troubling. His personal thoughts and feelings have no more bearing on his body's natural reaction than they do upon their situation as a whole. All his desires are innate, subconscious, independent of himself—provoked not by Sen herself, but by attraction to her wild femininity. And an ardent aspiration to tame her.

"The two are… not mutually exclusive," growls Kazama eventually, teeth grit so that they obscure the traitorous words. His fingers feel numb in frustration and defeat, but he manages to undo his obi in a hurry, almost tearing off his yukata so that he stands naked before her.

Sen eyes Kazama carefully this time, a stark contrast from her instant aversion last night. "D-do you _always_ go without a fundoshi?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest, and flushes despite all her appearance of boldness. Her ripostes are less pointed, now, and more apprehensive. Good. Her unnatural confidence is finally fading.

"Would you like me to?" asks Kazama, tilting his head slightly to scrutinize her body language. Does she feel the same magnetic pull?

Sen's blush darkens, her eyes narrowing as they flick up to his face, searching his expression for something specific, but she does not seem able to find it. "I don't think… you care what I like," she says, somewhat more hesitantly, and her tone and countenance are both guarded. Kazama allows himself a small smile. This is the one time that evasiveness is acceptable: when it is as good as an affirmative.

"But I do _know_ what you like," murmurs Kazama, reaching for her down low. Sen lets him get close enough to feel her body heat, but swats his hand away at the last second, and he narrows his eyes. However, distracted by the motion of the one hand, he fails to account for the other. Sen's fingers curl around him, none too gently, and his breath hitches in shock, a dissonant hum filling his ears so that he can barely hear what she says…

"What will finish you fastest, Kazama- _san_?" asks Sen, giving him a squeeze, and he gasps. "Think carefully, now. I want you out of my sight as soon as may be."

Kazama opens his mouth, but Sen starts moving her hand slowly— _agonizingly_ slowly—and only a faintly vocalized exhalation escapes. Her palm is damp, her grasp soft and smooth and strong, yet just the slightest bit shaky. She is maintaining her composure much better than last night, but she is no braver than before. "Wh-what do you want from me?" demands Kazama, once he finds his voice, but it sounds distant and strained to his own ears.

"I want you to lie down and let me satisfy you," hisses Sen, bringing forth her other hand; all her fingers tighten and loosen in an oddly innocent yet undeniably effective rhythm. Her confidante must have taught her a few tricks, thinks Kazama, not for the first time. Though he might ordinarily be annoyed that she has asked questions when he himself has no such resource, in the moment, he cannot bring himself to be displeased. In that respect, whispers the same tiny voice as before, perhaps she has a point about leading him through. But he smothers the imaginary sound instantly.

Before long, Sen's grasp turns commanding, and she makes to drag him down with her. Much as he'd prefer to remain standing, his body follows her to her futon instinctively, and he decides it is better to kneel, acting as though his faltering was intentional. But Sen knows the truth, as the hint of a smile, mischievous and exhausted, twitches at the corner of her mouth. Sen's smirk stirs Kazama briefly back to himself. He must not let her have her way so soon.

Remembering to bring his hand forward once more, he positions it between her legs as carefully as he can. She's damp already, more so than he expects. Realizing that his breaths have become shallow, in anticipation or in pleasure, Kazama forces himself to inhale more deeply. He catches a sweet earthy tang, intimate, enticing, even more so as he flicks his fingers in an echo of last night's movements. Her slickness, her shudder, her shiver, her relaxed kind of tension, all indicate a subconscious desire to give herself over to his touch—tempered only by her insistence on holding some kind of power over him.

Testing her resolve, Kazama hooks his fingers and tugs toward him. Sen gasps, her hands slackening as she scoots helplessly forward, but then she slides her fingers around his waist to press her nails into his lower back, his buttocks. Kazama gives a hissing exhalation through clenched teeth, arching automatically away from her insistent pressure.

Sen's breath comes hot and quick on his skin as she leans his forehead against his chest, pressing herself fully against him, accepting the pleasure he offers but making no effort to reciprocate beyond the subtle motion of her body. Her flat stomach ripples on his skin, soft and muscular and… oppressive. She's pushing him slowly down again, realizes Kazama, stiffening as his senses sharpen in sudden indignation.

A plan flashes through his head, a dance so instinctive he does not know the steps before he performs them. He relaxes, complying, disarming her as he withdraws his fingers and allows himself to be pushed once more to the floor. But he moves too quickly, too easily, and curses himself as Sen narrows her eyes in suspicion. Still, there is nothing she can do but return to the pursuit, even warily.

As soon as she moves to arch over him again, Kazama jolts into action. Sweeping Sen's legs out from under her, he sits up, grabs her shoulders, and slams her into the ground, pressing a forearm to her throat. If Sen could breathe, she would gasp; her chest heaves with the effort, and she is still.

"Not a second time," breathes Kazama, bringing his hand back to pleasure her again. "Though I'm sure you could overpower me in your true form." And, as his clumsy fingers collide with the right place at the wrong time, Sen flinches. The hate and fear in her stubborn eyes is not half as rewarding as Kazama expects, and he frowns slightly before easing the weight on her throat. The beginnings of comprehension prod at the edges of his mind: even dominance is ultimately a collaboration.

Sen must see the shift in his mind somehow, because she takes advantage of his hesitation and rolls him over with sudden strength, more than her human appearance should be able to contain. "Is it so hard for you to accept something—that others might consider a _gift_?" she demands in a low voice, practically spitting the words. "To lie back and receive pleasure, without the necessity of—"

"If I thought for a moment that you actually seek to please me," interrupts Kazama, bringing his hand up to her cheek in a rough caress, "then perhaps—"

"I _do_ ," insists Sen, cutting him off. "I _must_."

As she lowers her haunches in preparation to assume position she so earnestly desires, there is a hint of something that goes beyond frustration in her voice. Desperation, perhaps. She is less tentative this time, already employing those infuriatingly light touches, already feeling for the right place to settle further down…

The temptation to let her do it is overwhelming, but Kazama is not ready to surrender yet. Sensing Sen's weakness in her moment of strength, he seizes her wrists and throws her over, pressing them above her head. "But not out of any kind of wifely—obligation," he murmurs, bending his head to kiss her neck.

"How _dare_ you," snarls Sen, more aggressive now, and shifts beneath him, tensing. "You, who care— _nothing_ for me, as you make so abundantly—c-clear—you demand that I love you—?" Kazama thinks he sees a glint of gold deep behind her eyes, but even as his blood stirs in anticipation, she smothers the light and throws him aside, heedless of his accidental bite.

"N-not love," pants Kazama, grimacing, as she pins him down. "Never love—only—" He can't think straight anymore, so strong is the desire to lose himself in her once more, but half-incoherent words tear themselves from his throat all the same, as instinctive as the actions to come. "A—a desire to—conceive—to _please_ your h-husband—not to—to tame me—"

"Everyone always—bows down to you," growls Sen, her voice ragged, and her fingers curl into his shoulders as if forming fists. " _I won't_."

In a way, Kazama admires Sen's perseverance, but he has had enough. If she is in a hurry to finish him, then she has no business wasting time lecturing him like this. Obeying a sudden impulse to indulge her and be done, Kazama grabs her by the hips and pulls her down onto him.

They both gasp, and Sen shudders, but Kazama is momentarily oblivious to all but the hot slick textural _wet_ of her around him. Both of them are stunned for the moment, neither breathing nor thinking, before he forces himself to move. Holding Sen down atop him, he lifts his hips to thrust deeper into her, reminding her with a single rolling motion that if she has decided to take the reins, the least she can do is show him that she knows how to use them.

Biting her lip, Sen finally starts moving in those delicious ellipses. Kazama makes a valiant effort to regulate his breathing, feeling for the right spot with a shaking hand. As he finds it, Sen gives a little moan, chasing his pressure, quickening her pace in irrepressible eagerness. Even so shortly after the beginning, they are both so much closer to the end than Kazama ever would have imagined after so little direct contact. The intensity of their emotions must have heightened the sensations far beyond the usual.

All this and more passes unthought through his head until each of her motions feels like it elicits a little release of its own—and then, just before the final rush begins—she stops. Though Kazama does not remember closing his eyes, he finds himself opening them to glare at her; what is she doing? "Promise you'll… let me have this," says Sen, her tone too breathless to be truly commanding, her face too flushed to be stern. "That you'll let me… lead the way. From now on."

Kazama narrows his eyes; this is the lowest blow imaginable. There is no way he can counter her in a position like this. He opens his mouth to say no, but he can feel her muscles tighten around him briefly, and gasps. It isn't enough to push him over the edge, just to tease him, to drive him mad.

But two can play at that game. Moving his fingers in an undulating motion, Kazama relishes Sen's sharp inhalation. "Th-that depends," he manages, absorbed in exploring what little of her he can reach. That is still enough for her breaths to come quick and shallow, her muscles going rigid. Tighter still, unconsciously this time, and Kazama is short of breath now, his body begging for more, but he must prove his point. If he cannot take her by force, he must take her by surprise.

"Show me… your will," pants Kazama, "and _look me in the eye_."

Sen hesitates, but obeys. In the dim lantern-light, her eyes are a deep rose again. In her gaze is confusion and suspicion and defiance, but also something gentler, deeper, burning with a softer light. Is it the wish to see it burn more brightly or to extinguish it altogether that spurs him on to rub her more aggressively?

Kazama's motions catch Sen off-guard, but it only takes a few more of them before her eyes flutter and widen in shock, her body stiffening. Her rising voice wavers, plaintive, unsteady, almost mournful—and _oh_ , these rapid rhythmic contractions—the sensations all around him are like nothing he's ever felt—a swelling and a surge—catharsis of a physical kind—a low animal noise in the back of his throat that does not sound like himself—and then an internal silence, and the peace of relief permeating through his body.

Struggling to catch his breath, and cast half out of his mind by overwhelming sensation, Kazama only gradually returns to himself and his buzzing body. Sen is hunched over him as if in shock, pressing her palms into his chest, and Kazama examines her with some amusement, but chooses _not_ to ask why it is so hard for her to accept something others might consider a gift. His victory over her is enough for now, pyrrhic though it may be.

It seems that Kazama has proven his point after all, albeit in a roundabout way. Even if Sen insists on assuming the more overtly dominant role, perhaps that makes his triumph all the more beautiful. All he needed was a shift in perception, and an opportunity to demonstrate that he is not so easily mastered. This is his power over her, and it is only thanks to her demands that he has found it.

Their argument has come to a close. _This_ , not their first night together, will be the precedent for their marriage.

Kazama only realizes he is smiling at Sen as she tosses him a feeble glare, and he quickly makes an effort to clear his expression. "Kazama-san," she says, making an effort to straighten up, but wobbles violently in place. Kazama catches her automatically by the waist, helping her slide off, and sits back idly. "Please… get out."

Startled despite himself, Kazama blinks at her for a moment, then heaves a resigned sigh and crawls over to fetch his clothes. Not that he particularly wishes to stay, but carefree drowsiness has addled his mind so that he forgot he should specifically be going. As Kazama gets gingerly to his feet and pulls on his yukata, however, another question occurs to him, and he frowns. "Why did you undress?" he asks, tying his obi haphazardly as he recalls the way Sen took hers off. "I only wanted to talk."

"But I knew you would be furious with me," says Sen, straightening out her futon, and it takes Kazama a shamefully long time to remember why he was so upset with her in the first place. "Call it self-defense. Just get _out_ , Kazama-san." Her tone is much more exasperated or even distressed than it is genuinely harsh. "I… I have a few things I'd like to try and forget."

Kazama inclines his head, giving her one more appraising glance up and down, and turns away without a word. If she wishes to be alone with her thoughts and the realization that no position of power is absolute, so be it.

As he makes his way into the hall and closes Sen's door behind him, ensuring with some difficulty that he does not stumble and fall in the clumsiness of afterglow, he realizes abruptly that she has still not shown him her demon form. But in the moment, no failure has ever felt so trivial. Now that he has discovered the extent of his influence over her, it is only a matter of time.


	3. lifeblood

The next several days pass Sen swiftly by, dreams from which she cannot awake—a blur of helpless anguish and resentful pleasure.

Now that Kazama has learned to content himself with their arrangement, there is little satisfaction in dominance… but she knows there will be even less in surrender. His appetite for power is clear enough even through his fast, but Sen refuses to be devoured. Let him starve, even if she has had her fill.

Her sole advantage over Kazama is in her level of self-control. Every time she feels him fanning the flames of anger in her heart, every time she feels the chill of abhorrence in the pit of her stomach, every time she lets herself believe even for a moment that his smile is genuine, she forces herself to clear her mind and persevere. Even as Kazama becomes more and more adept at eliciting certain reactions from her body, he can never touch her soul.

The physical fulfillment he offers can never match Sen's weary triumph at the sight of his control slipping visibly away. But such power is a double-edged blade, as she discovered last night. She could push him only so far before he pushed back.

 _How do you do it?_ hissed Kazama, golden eyes wild, as he slammed her against the wall with force that might render a lesser being unconscious. Completion may have made him weak, but his demonic strength was still far greater than Sen anticipated. Before that moment, he had never dared turn it against her. _How can you hide your true self from me for so long, despite all you feel—all I_ make _you feel?_

Sen opened her mouth to tell him that only a week had passed, but found that she could not breathe. And, to her astonishment, Kazama lessened the pressure of his fingers on her throat. His question may not have been rhetorical, but she could never answer it to his satisfaction. How could she explain the truth in a way he will accept, when he has already convinced himself she withholds it out of spite? He is not entirely wrong, but Sen prefers to think of it as instinct.

She is just as capable of revealing her true form as any other demon of her stature, but she has undergone extensive training to keep it hidden. Unless there is desire involved, human men have a tendency to ignore women. Should Sen's emotions get the better of her and reveal her to be a demon, she would cease to be afforded that luxury.

In a way, the impulse to hide is no different with Kazama. Maintaining her human appearance is a gesture of self-preservation in its truest sense, a demonstration of her own power to maintain control of her true form and deny him what he seeks.

And she did so again last night, staring at him silently until he let her go with a guttural growl of animal rage. The desire for violence rolled off him in almost tangible waves, so dense and searing that Sen almost recoiled as instinctive fear flooded her veins. But something deep behind Kazama's eyes caught her attention. A glint of something more lucid, more measured than his savage emotions suggested, like interest or wariness. This was just another ploy to get what he wanted, a threat to provoke her into self-defense—far from idle, but nonetheless contrived.

Sen's mask may have cracked for a moment, but it solidified again upon the instant, along with her resolution to remain intact. Kazama's claim to her body did not extend to its appearance, nor the spirit within it. She must stay strong at any cost, or he would seize control. Mustering half a smile that did not reach her eyes, Sen bowed, collected her clothes, and returned to her room without a word, secure in the knowledge that Kazama had not succeeded in breaking her.

Slumber may have claimed her quickly, but the memory of the fury on his face, the thick dark bestial snarl that told her to get out, are etched so clearly into her memory that they unfurl into a sprawling storm. Here, she has no conviction, no mask, terror gripping her—running in the frigid rain, senseless, clothes in tatters, half torn off—footsteps close behind, the heavy footfalls of leather boots—but, whirling around, Sen finds only shadows.

She comes to an uneasy halt, catching her breath, and looks around her. Dusky buildings, vague outlines, no familiar signs or streets or any alleys into which she can escape. Sen stands on a muddy road that stretches on forever before her, and she cannot remember how long she has been running, or from where. Even the horror from which she flees is hazy in her mind, until… she remembers.

Dread soaks into Sen's heart like the relentless rain, and her vision wavers. Breathing ragged, she turns around again, slowly.

Kazama stands before her, western jacket dark and slick with something thicker than water, sword drawn and gleaming in impossible moonlight. His hair is white, his eyes golden, two sets of ivory horns crowning his head as naturally as if he never learned to assume a human form. Sen's hair stands on end, an enervating shiver running through her body—crippling fright, not of what Kazama will do to her body, but to her very soul—

 _You are mine_ , he says, his voice so low in his throat that Sen should not be able to hear it, but he seems to be murmuring in her ear—recognizing the illusion before her, she tries to turn around—but his arms encircle her from behind, his bare body pressing against hers, hungry yet gentle—something underneath his strength feels so desperately earnest, almost helpless—and Sen longs to push him away and keep running, but her fickle body escapes her command—it is no longer him she fears, but her own desire—her name on his lips, mumbled into her shoulder, powerful as a spell—

Gasping for air, Sen jolts awake, her thoughts a maelstrom of angst and panic. Focusing on the morning light filtering into her room, she takes a deep and shaky breath to calm her racing heart. Her dreams have been mercifully sparse and indistinct since her wedding, so she supposes it is about time the nightmares overtook her. Although she is of the opinion that they are nothing compared to her reality.

Shifting in place, Sen feels a hot thickness, a liquid kind of defeat, shift with her, and freezes. She ignored the first signs late last night, out of fatigue and futile hope, but now she has no choice but to admit that she has started bleeding after all.

The sudden weight of failure is far heavier than Sen anticipated. Shame, guilt, and frustration press upon her so ponderously that she can hardly breathe. Even after all that colossal effort over so many exhausting nights, the flesh and blood that should have cushioned a child still seeps inevitably away. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, she has little time to dwell on it.

"Sen," says Kazama's voice, and she jumps, glancing around frantically. He is not in the room, but from the sound of things, he stands just outside her door. "May I come in?"

"N-no," she says, more than a little flustered, and gets gingerly to her feet in preparation to dress herself before her situation gets any messier.

"Is something wrong?" asks Kazama, his tone indiscernible. Sen may be perceptive, but the contrast between Kazama's various moods is unlike any nuance she has ever encountered before. Rather than the usual subtle variations she senses in most people, such as annoyance as opposed to anger, the emotions Sen has the most trouble distinguishing in Kazama manifest as polar opposites in most others. He demonstrates his contentment and dissatisfaction, or sincerity and sarcasm, so similarly that she has a difficult time figuring out which is which without seeing his expression.

Sen takes a deep breath to try and compose herself, although she supposes bitterly that the pause will be just as telling. "No," she says, striding to her dresser to gather a change of clothes. "You just woke me, that's all. But why are you here?"

"Amagiri informs me that Shiranui has finally arrived to offer his 'congratulations and condolences', as he apparently said," says Kazama dispassionately. "I only came to pass on the news, since we should both be present to greet him."

Sen halts mid-motion, surprised. _Shiranui_? How many months has he wandered the country without a word to most of his fellow demons, and now he comes unannounced to Yase?

But for now, there is one more important mystery to consider. "You could just as easily have delegated that task," says Sen, equal parts intrigued and irritated. Even if Kimigiku is away on a mission, she would have thought that deigning to speak to one of her maids would still be more palatable than bothering to play the messenger himself. "Why tell me yourself? I'm sure you have many more _pressing_ matters to which you must attend." Unless he means to talk things out.

Kazama sighs, as if the answer is obvious. "If I'm expected to talk to Shiranui peacefully, I need to be in a _very_ charitable mood. As it stands, I am not. But I've noticed, after our nights together, no matter how much you infuriate me…" He hesitates. "I don't stay that way for long."

Sen grits her teeth, gripping her new clothes more tightly to stabilize herself. Of _course_ he didn't come to apologize. But then again, if he had, she might still be dreaming. "I don't think that's going to work," she says, perhaps more sharply than is wise, but her nightmare has shortened her temper. "I am… decidedly… _not_ pregnant."

There is an unbearably long silence, the quality of which she cannot gauge through the door. Making an effort to relax, Sen realizes she is trembling. Does he understand her meaning? He _must_ ; she can practically sense anger and disapproval swirling around her, suffocating her. A profound and aching frustration wells up in her throat, and she has to concentrate hard to avoid whimpering like a cornered animal. This isn't her fault!

Eventually, Kazama clears his throat forcefully, as if something has been keeping him from breathing properly. "Oh," is his only response at first, and Sen blinks at the unexpectedly awkward note in his voice. Is that _embarrassment_? "In that case, meet me in the main hall whenever you're ready." And with that, his soft footsteps retreat back down the corridor, and Sen is left alone.

Relaxing all at once, she sways in place in delayed astonishment, hands slackening so that she almost drops her clothes. But if she is expected to grant an audience, there is no time to question her blessings. Grateful for the distraction, Sen sets her fresh kimono aside and undresses to rinse herself hastily. She will have to bathe properly later.

The water is cold in the dim light of dawn, but refreshingly so, clear and icy as unforgiving truth as she washes away the stain of nightmarish falsehood. Her thoughts drift to her unexpected visitor, mulling over his presence with renewed curiosity. Shiranui has always offered a reassuring change of pace, and he has always seemed sympathetic to her various plights, albeit in his usual flippant way.

Still, his presence in her village has never felt so welcome before, although Sen cannot keep from feeling more than a little strange at the thought that a man she once considered as a potential mate should come to congratulate her on marrying someone else. It hadn't been _serious_ ; merely a function of having few appropriately high-ranking prospects to choose from. She doubts very much that she could have found much happiness with a man like Shiranui, as changeable as the wind and twice as wild.

Nonetheless, a dangerous desire surfaces from its resting place deep in her heart, swelling again and aching all the more now that it is impossible. She always wished to be swept away, just like her ancestor so many centuries ago. She yearns for the freedom to have her heart broken. At least then its pain could stand as proof that she once loved.

Once her thoughts and regrets are gathered, appropriate hygienic measures taken, and new clothes donned, Sen hurries down the corridor to the main hall, head still spinning. However, she stops short as she recognizes Kazama skulking at the end of the hall. He is staring at the floor, apparently lost in thought, but raises his eyes to Sen as she approaches.

"Shiranui let himself in," says Kazama, letting out a long breath. "I'd prefer to spend as little time around him as possible, so I had Amagiri keep him occupied, and left on the pretense of fetching you."

"Do you really hate him that much?"

Kazama makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "We worked together because duty demanded it, and for no other reason. I know he can't stand me, because he said so to my face, in fewer words. And the feeling is _more_ than mutual."

As he speaks, Sen has a sudden impulse to tell him that she considered Shiranui just as viable a match before Kazama forced his proposal on her, but smothers it and steps forward. Trying not to touch Kazama, Sen inches carefully past him to the door, but the corridor is a narrow one, and her body remembers their proximity last night—perilous and intoxicating.

Torn between flinching away and drawing closer, Sen freezes altogether, breathing becoming more shallow still. Kazama tilts his head slightly, his crimson gaze becoming more piercing. "Is something the matter?" he asks quietly, inquiring after her well-being for the second time, and for the second time, Sen must respond with a lie. Shaking her head jerkily, she snaps the door open, as much to distract herself as to make her way inside.

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, Shiranui turns his head to look over at her, a grin spreading across his face as he looks her up and down. His focus is a peculiar thing, sharp yet scattered; less intense than Kazama's, but just as unnerving in its way. "About time," he says, dipping his head. "It's been awhile. How's it going, Princess?"

The sound of a somewhat exasperated exhalation distracts Sen, and she glances aside to find Amagiri sitting seiza near the wall, looking simultaneously uncomfortable and resigned. He may have gotten used to Shiranui's blatant lack of respect for tradition and authority over the years they spent working together, but he is probably still at a loss for how to _deal_ with it.

Sen, meanwhile, smiles faintly at the realization that nothing has changed. The world has not managed to tame Shiranui yet; he remains a breath of fresh air in an admittedly stale society. "Shiranui," she greets him, making her way to her cushion and seating herself. She does have a throne, of course, but that is mostly for ceremonial purposes, and Shiranui despises standing on ceremony more than anyone else. "It _has_ been a long time."

Years have passed since they last met in person, although only the past several months have passed without any news at all. Now that the demons of Yase are no longer in favor with the majority of the imperial court, Sen has elected to keep all but her most competent agents as close to home as possible. Her information network has deteriorated considerably as a result, and though she could usually track Shiranui down if necessary during the war, she lost track of his movements as her priorities shifted.

Evidently, Shiranui senses the multitude of questions in her voice, as well as the direction in which her thoughts tend. "Yeah, well, I've been pretty busy, trying to keep track of which way the wind's blowing," he says, shrugging. "Kinda forgot to keep in touch. Sorry about that."

Shiranui's eyes glint with mischief as they travel over to Kazama, sinking stonily into his appointed seat. As dictated by Yase tradition, any consort must sit off to the side and some distance back from the Princess, and it is obvious from Shiranui's gleeful expression that he takes no small amount of pleasure in Kazama's inferior positioning.

Sen glances back at her husband to find him staring Shiranui down already, as if daring him to address him, and clears her throat. "Shall I have someone serve you some tea?"

Shiranui shakes his head. "No need. As great as being served sounds, it's better in theory than practice. I'm not really into that kind of thing." His eyes do not leave Kazama's face as he speaks, but Sen cannot bring herself to look at her husband's expression. "Oh, and I'm not planning on staying long enough for you to bother, anyway," he adds as an afterthought.

"What _are_ you doing here?" asks Kazama bluntly. "Social calls aren't your style, if whatever you do can be called a 'style' at all."

Shiranui tuts at him, shaking his head slowly. "Right to business as usual, huh, Kazama?" he asks, eyes flicking momentarily to Sen. "Bet _that_ gets old fast. Seriously, I just came here to pay my respects and offer some advice, like the clan leader I technically am. But if you're that convinced I have some ulterior motive, I guess I can give you a warning too, and call it a late wedding gift."

"A _warning_?" echoes Sen.

Shiranui nods, suddenly serious. "Assuming you haven't already heard it, anyway. I may not have any human contacts anymore, but I still know how to follow up if I hear anything I don't like. And let me tell you, I'm not too fond of the latest gossip." He looks between Sen and Kazama, studying their reactions closely, and Sen knows he is gauging whether he needs to explain himself.

Sen understands immediately, but Kazama does not. Yase's information network has always centered exclusively around the Princess. A consort such as Kazama has no entitlement to information she does not choose to disclose, including the details of the missions on which she sends her scouts. Mentioning the news openly like that, Shiranui must not know that the news of which he speaks is as yet confidential.

"Stop beating around the bush," growls Kazama, and Sen jumps. "Have the humans changed you so much that you can no longer say what you mean?"

Such a challenge might ordinarily spur Shiranui to retort upon the instant, but still he hesitates, glancing at Sen apologetically in search of permission. She inclines her head slightly. At this point, it will only make matters more troublesome if he remains silent. Now that he has broached the subject, Sen has no wish to explain the situation herself. Let Shiranui draw Kazama's wrath.

"Fine, fine," says Shiranui, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "See, the humans in the imperial court are still talking about us demons, but nobody knows what about or why—and _that_ means none of us are safe yet." Sen narrows her eyes under Shiranui's even and unrelenting gaze. He is as well-informed as she is on this matter, but has evidently come to a slightly different conclusion regarding its urgency. "So basically, congrats on getting hitched, but you two still have a lot more to do than each other."

"How is it that you know the goings-on in the imperial court better than Sen's spies?" asks Kazama. "I've heard no such rumors from the people of Yase, and secrets are their trade." As he speaks, he turns his face to regard Sen with a harsh question in his gaze, and she closes her eyes in response to his barely veiled threat. The exact role of a consort in the politics of Yase is entirely up to the Princess. Perhaps Kazama could do with a reminder of Sen's own personal policy…

"Not as such," she corrects him, as politely as she can, but makes sure that her voice carries the same sense of finality she feels. "Kimigiku assures me that there is no immediate danger as of now, but I _have_ been made aware that the imperial court has not yet ceased their discussion of our affairs." She pauses, ignoring Kazama's stinging glare to the best of her ability, and looks levelly at Shiranui. "Is there anything further we should know?"

Shiranui shrugs. "That's for your agents to decide, not that I've seen too many of them around lately. But either way, I'd say this is exactly the kind of danger you have to watch out for. At least you can fight back against an actual threat. All you can do with rumors like these is try to be ready for anything, and it's not exactly easy to keep your guard up for that long at a stretch."

Kazama makes a faint noise of irritation and turns his face away, but Sen's breath catches as Shiranui's words strike truer than he ever could have imagined. Memories of the past several nights blend together into a phantasmagoria of reluctant sensation. She herself has had to remain on her guard ever since she and Kazama were first engaged, and doing so has proven more taxing than she ever could have imagined.

Perhaps seeing her thoughts flash across her face, Shiranui's eyes sharpen in undisguised interest, and Sen gets the unwelcome feeling that he is piercing straight through to the tempest in her soul. "Speaking of which," he adds, leaning forward in his usual limber way, "how's this asshole been treating you, Princess?"

Sen's heart skips a beat as Shiranui jerks his head at Kazama, and she opens her mouth uncertainly, but her husband reacts first. " _Shiranui_ ," he hisses, shifting in place as if to get to his feet, and his fingers twitch as though itching to reach for his thankfully absent sword. "What are you after?"

Shiranui rolls his eyes. "I just want to know how you've been treating her," he says, repeating the words slowly. "And since you never know what the hell you're talking about, especially not when it comes to women, I figured it was better to ask _her_."

Sen shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly, and tries to smile. His concern is touching, but there is no way she can confess the truth while Kazama is still present. "I'm fine, Shiranui," she assures him, wondering whether there is even the slightest element of truth to her words, and Kazama relaxes almost imperceptibly in her peripheral vision. "But thank you for your concern."

Shiranui whistles, raising his eyebrows. "Just _fine_ , huh?" he asks disbelievingly. "I'll take that to mean he hasn't been doing such a great job." He cocks his head, grin widening more than a little mockingly, and Sen blinks a few times, trying to determine how he could figure that out from an ultimately civil response. "Why am I not surprised?"

"She just told you she was fine, idiot," points out Kazama impatiently.

"Let me tell you a little secret," says Shiranui, chuckling. "If a woman says she's _fine_ , that's code for unimpressed. Look, she's not even blushing," he adds, gesturing over to her. Sen can only stare at him as new understanding dawns on her. Was _that_ what he meant…? (Finding herself uncertain as to whether she ought to be more embarrassed or exasperated, Sen settles for both.)

"If you're so gifted at interpreting feminine nuance, I wonder that your clan hasn't given you the task of finding a worthy bride to hone your talents," snaps Kazama. "They must care about their future as little as you do."

"Hey, fuck off," says Shiranui, so casually Sen almost misses the expletive. "I care about the future more than _you_ do. You're so caught up in your self-righteous tradition that you think all of demonkind is set for life, now that you married the Princess. But Japan is still a dangerous place for a demon, now more than ever. I'm going to keep protecting myself and my people however I can."

"By walking among humans even after your debt is repaid?"

Shiranui's eyes flash in cold fury, and Sen almost flinches, although all his ire is directed at Kazama. "Someday, hiding from the humans won't be possible anymore," says Shiranui, his teeth grit, as if he is barely restraining himself from yelling. "I don't know how soon that'll be, but I'm guessing _soon_. Things are changing more quickly than ever, and it's up to us to keep up or get left behind."

"Leave the future to future demons," retorts Kazama. "You're trying to do your descendants' job yourself. Your mission is to ensure that you _have_ descendants, not to go gallivanti—"

" _I'm_ trying to figure out a new way of thinking that my family can pass on to the next generation," shoots back Shiranui. "I could have a hundred children, but none of them would survive if they couldn't learn to adapt. You can act as high and mighty as you like, but, end of the day, I still have the advantage. If you don't start changing how you look at the world around you, your clan won't live a hell of a lot longer. And even worse, you'll drag the people of Yase down with you."

Sen frowns, pursing her lips. Not that she disagrees, but this argument is going to get out of hand quickly if she lets it progress any further. "Shiranui," she says reluctantly, staring him down until his eyes shift back to her. "You know that to insult my husband is to insult me. Hold your tongue, unless you mean to offer your head as a wedding gift."

Shiranui quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing. Sen can see that he does not believe that she is actually threatening him, but her authority is such that he does not dare speak out of turn.

Kazama, meanwhile, lets out a strangled exhalation, and Sen looks back at him to find a muscle in his jaw tightening. "All I want to know," he says, making a commendable effort at civility, "is why your family has not impressed upon you the importance of making a good match. Fighting for your descendants is a noble cause, but they'll all be hypothetical until you take that step."

"You don't want to be the only one to suffer, is that it?" asks Shiranui, laughing. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but your clan is bigger, pushier, _and_ more political than mine. Not to mention, you're the most legitimate heir in the family," he adds, counting off on his fingers. "Eldest son, purest of blood, and you took on the duties of leader yourself to repay your clan's debt? No wonder they wanted to marry you off. Your children are gonna be powerful demons, even if you'd married a human."

Kazama winces as if he has tasted something bitter. "Don't say such disgusting things."

Shiranui grins reminiscently. "As usual, you don't know what you're talking about, but that's beside the point. What I'm saying is, I got five little brothers and sisters with just as much Shiranui blood as me, so let _them_ get married and have kids." His smile fades slowly, his expression growing more distant and defiant. "I'll pass on the whole 'settling down' thing, thanks."

Sen blinks at Shiranui in surprise, taken aback despite herself. He may despise demon traditions more than anyone else she knows, but she never thought even he would dare to challenge it so directly. The leader of a clan has a duty to produce direct descendants, no matter how many siblings they may have—not only to solidify the family line, but to reinforce the race itself, and boost the morale of the entire clan. Even to _consider_ dodging such a crucial contribution to one's people is unthinkable, although Sen supposes her situation is somewhat different, as she is a female of high rank and higher demand.

"You _are_ the leader of your clan, correct?" asks Sen, frowning. "You don't think it's your duty to have children of your own?" In spite of her girlish desire that everyone have the freedom to marry whom they wish, to deny even the _thought_ of starting a family someday strikes her as terribly selfish. Does Shiranui have so little regard for the continuation of a culture that has persisted for a thousand years, clinging to survival even against overwhelming odds? And more importantly still, does he allow no room for the possibility of falling in love?

"Why would I?" returns Shiranui, shrugging. "I don't want kids, and I don't need 'em. If I kick the bucket, Yoshie will take over." He smiles again, less genuinely this time. "I may have gotten the title since I'm older, but _she's_ the one who takes care of everyone back home. _I_ just run around repaying old debts, collecting information, and generally keeping the humans' attention as far away from home as possible."

"A duty better suited to a servant than a clan leader," scoffs Kazama.

"Clan leaders _are_ servants," retorts Shiranui, nimble fingers curling into fists. "Or at least they're supposed to be. Look, apart from my own people, every damn demon I find expects me to play the part I'm given like everyone else. I just have enough sense to know it's not the right one for me. I _know_ what I want, and what I can do—and that helps my people a hell of a lot more than if I tried getting mixed up in the political scene."

Sen narrows her eyes. His disapproval is all too clear, and it feels suspiciously as though he is insulting them somehow, but she cannot identify how or why. "I understand the necessity of defending yourself, but this argument has gone on long enough," she remarks pointedly. Ordinarily, she might try a more polite approach, but she doubts it would have much effect on someone as direct as Shiranui. "Did you come to Yase to talk about yourself, or is there some hidden meaning to your words?"

Shiranui gives a growl-like sigh of frustration in the back of his throat. "I'm just trying to say, you two aren't cut out for this," he says, looking briefly away from them for the first time. "Sure, you're _dedicated_ to the roles you're expected to take, but you're still pretty terrible actors. It's no secret you hate each other's guts. I'd been hoping your little arrangement might clear some of that up, but from what I can see, the most it's done is force you to hide it."

Much as Sen hates to admit it, even to herself, Shiranui is absolutely right, but by no means does that knowledge make the truth any easier to swallow. Sudden resentment seethes in her heart at the idea that he should wander into her home unannounced and profess to know their innermost thoughts and feelings towards one another. "It's too late to call off the wedding now," she snaps, more and more uneasy. "What purpose do you have in criticizing our choices?"

Shiranui raises his eyebrows. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but unless you two invented a new kind of love that looks _really_ cold and uncomfortable from an outsider's perspective, I'd bet just about anything that you two hate each other more than ever. And you might be doing a damn impressive job of keeping the peace on the outside, but if anyone catches a glimpse of your true feelings toward one another… well, you're practically a civil war waiting to happen."

Amagiri clears his throat, and Sen almost starts. His presence has been so steady and silent that she half forgot he is still there. "That is _not_ true, and you know it," he says matter-of-factly, shifting in place, but his eyes do not move from Shiranui's face. "No matter what Kazama and Princess Sen's personal feelings may be, both councils of advisors unanimously approved the match, and the people are satisfied."

"Oh really?" returns Shiranui. "That's not the word I'd use. Sure, everyone's happy there'll be someone to carry on the lines someday, but it's all symbolic. Most of the common folk just want some kind of assurance that nothing is going to change. That demonkind will endure." His eyes turn faraway, fingers busying themselves with the end of his belt, almost as though he is nervous. "So when they look at you, _that's_ what they're seeing."

"And what's wrong with that?" demands Kazama, and Sen nods once as he summarizes her thoughts exactly. If she can bring her people happiness for any reason, even if they think only of the future, her suffering in the meantime becomes irrelevant. Let them be symbols, if it is for the greater good.

Shiranui's eyes sharpen again as he looks rapidly between the two of them, and Sen realizes with a jolt that she actually agreed with Kazama voluntarily. "Nothing, really," he says, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "But you have to understand, the situation's pretty delicate, because none of your in-laws like you enough to turn a blind eye if you slip up. If you're not real careful, they'll stop focusing on the future and start seeing how you act around one another in the here and now. And you'd better _pray_ they're better than you are at setting their personal feelings aside, or one of you might just get yourselves killed."

"You mean someone might try to _assassinate_ us?" asks Sen. "Is our union so controversial?" Aside from a few envious young men, her agents have said nothing of such turbulent emotions as Shiranui describes, and if the center of the conflict is supposedly so close to home…

" _Shiranui_ ," says Amagiri, his voice rumbling and snapping like an admonishing crack of thunder. "Don't exaggerate. Tensions are nowhere near high enough for anyone to even consider such a radical course of action." He turns his head to Sen, bowing slightly. "I have heard no such alarming news since my arrival in Yase, Princess. Please do not worry."

"It's called a logical extreme," says Shiranui, cracking his knuckles idly. "I'm not saying anyone's out for blood yet, I'm saying they will be if you fuck this up. See," he adds, turning to Sen, " _you're_ practically a goddess as far as your subjects are concerned, so none of them take too kindly to Kazama's attitude. Which, by the way, I totally understand." His eyes swivel back over to Kazama. "And _your_ folks aren't too happy you settled for the Princess, instead of going after the Yukimura girl."

"And just where did you hear that?" asks Kazama, bristling. "I've received no such news, and my father writes—" He cuts himself off abruptly, and Sen tilts her head. This is not the first time that has happened. For someone so preoccupied with the welfare of his clan, he doesn't talk about them very much. Sen's agents have informed her of his basic situation and that of his family in some detail, but only rarely has she heard his own perspective.

"Oh, I happened to be in the area the other month, so I asked around," says Shiranui, waving his hand vaguely. "They're not really troubling to keep it under wraps. You know how the Kazama family is." He smirks, tossing Sen a meaningful look. "Can't shut up about themselves and their opinions for five seconds together."

Sen might try to smile if she was in a more lenient mood, but as it is, her tolerance has lessened too much to accommodate Shiranui's persistent jesting. "I think I've forgotten the point of this conversation," she says, scowling. "Assuming there ever _was_ one."

"Okay, back to business it is," says Shiranui, shaking his head. "Kazama's sucked the fun right out of you, hasn't he? Lucky man." He leans back on his hands, and though the action is carefree and casual, his voice becomes more serious. "I was just about to wrap up by saying—there's still enough time to smooth things over, but only because you hopefully haven't expanded the family yet."

"Hopefully… _haven't_?" echoes Sen, by now bewildered. Isn't that contrary not only to what she and Kazama stand for, but also Shiranui's own advice? If her people are looking to the future, is it not better to hasten the day their hopes become reality, and draw their attention away from any venom that might seep through the cracks in their marriage?

But Shiranui nods. "Once you're pregnant, you'll only have _nine months_ to finish working out all your issues with one another, and then… time's up. If you don't resolve all your problems before then, how long do you think you can keep 'em from the kid? Children are a lot smarter and more sensitive than you think."

"What would _you_ know about—?" says Kazama.

"More than you," interrupts Shiranui flatly; Kazama, caught off-guard, stares at him. "My youngest sister just turned twelve. Anyway, raising another generation of demons is all fine and dandy, but if you give them the wrong idea about how the world works, whether it's an accident or not… believe me, that'll be way worse for demonkind than if you never had kids at all."

"And what do you propose we do?" asks Sen, her patience by now completely depleted, and Shiranui's eyes widen slightly at her tone. "Dash our people's hopes and turn our backs on one another? Abandon our vows and return to our individual lives, afraid to adopt new roles simply because we are not naturally suited to them? Just because you have chosen to shun your responsibilities does _not_ mean that the rest of us are prepared to do the same."

"That's not what I'm asking," retorts Shiranui. "If it was, I'd have shown up in time to crash the wedding. I'm just saying, you might wanna slow it down a little. Make peace first, _then_ babies. Your situation isn't stable enough to handle any more variables, and an heir is a bigger one than you might think. Who knows what'll happen if you introduce a kid into circumstances like yours?"

" _You_ certainly don't," says Kazama icily. "Which means you're not qualified to comment."

Shiranui only laughs. "Says the pot to the kettle. Remind me again who told me I don't care about my family or my future? And that I need to marry someone suitable and start having kids?" He tilts his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "You can dish it out, but you sure can't take it. And Amagiri's still a bachelor, isn't he?" Shiranui indicates Amagiri with a thumb. "I don't see you riding _him_ about it."

Amagiri sighs, bowing his head more in resignation than assent. "I had an obligation to ensure Kazama found a suitable match first, since his clan is our benefactor. Now that I have facilitated his union with Princess Sen, I can prioritize my own people."

Shiranui nods. "I can respect that. But I wouldn't rush it, if I were you. We two have a few more important things to worry about at the moment than women." He pauses thoughtfully. "Although, come to think of it, I guess I'm a little bit worried about my favorite geisha." He returns his eyes to Sen's face, searching her expression. "You didn't send her into the middle of a warzone or anything, did you?"

Sen furrows her brows, trying to recall which of her numerous agents he might have met throughout their service in Kyoto. Several of them have expressed admiration for him in private, which complicates matters somewhat. Given what Kimigiku has told her of his taste in women, too, there's no guarantee his favorite geisha is even a demon. "I… don't believe you ever told me who—"

"I meant Kimigiku, and you know it," interrupts Shiranui, rolling his eyes. Sen stops short, shocked. Kimigiku never mentioned having enjoyed his company before. "How's she doing? It's been a long time since I saw her, and she's interesting enough that I'm actually kinda sorry for that."

As Sen deliberates on how to answer, Kazama narrows his eyes to slits. "I'm not interested in making small talk after all you've done," he says, getting to his feet and gazing down at the unperturbed Shiranui with fire in his eyes. "If you have no further business here, I suggest you leave. Kimigiku is currently away on a mission, and has no need for your concern. At the very least, she was well enough when she left to talk back to me."

"Good for her," says Shiranui approvingly, pushing himself to his feet, and shoots a swift and inscrutable glance in Amagiri's direction. Sen looks over at him to find him stiff in apparent displeasure, although his expression is still impassive enough that she cannot tell what is passing through his mind. "Anyway, I was just curious. I'll get out of your hair now."

Sen rises as well. "Thank you for the _advice_ , Shiranui." She knows he meant well, and that he has neither the desire nor the power to force either her or Kazama to do anything, but the knowledge of his misguided sincerity only frustrates her more. How can he just blow in like a storm after all those months, cast a shadow of doubt over an already dark situation, and leave?

Shiranui only shrugs and stretches luxuriously. "Hey, feel free to ignore me if you like. I just came here to remind you there's still a world out there, whether you're a part of it or not. And to tell you that the two of you have a lot more to worry about than who's on top." Kazama and Sen both tense at his words, and Shiranui glances curiously between them, then laughs. "Oh, is that actually an issue with you two? Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to touch a sore spot. The point is, you oughta give a little thought to what you're really working toward, and more importantly, _why_. That's all."

As he speaks, his smile lessens until he looks much older and very tired, as though he has spent precious years of his life fighting to uncover the same answer for himself. As he nods briefly to Sen and turns away, she can think of nothing to say, so she simply watches him until he reaches the entrance. He turns back to bow once, but then disappears through the door and closes it firmly behind him.

Seldom has a simple farewell felt so final. Sen finds herself contemplating his words as she sinks back down onto her cushion. What _is_ she trying to accomplish, and what is the reason behind her ancient duty…?

"Amagiri," says Kazama eventually, although he does not look at his attendant, his eyes still trained on the door through which Shiranui vanished. "Speak your mind."

Stirred from her thoughts, Sen glances over at Amagiri to find him looking distinctly uncomfortable as he inclines his head. "Shiranui may have spoken out of line, but… he does have a point. Your duty is not merely to _produce_ an heir, but to raise them as the future head of the Kazama clan. How can you expect a child to become a responsible leader while the two of you constantly fight one another for power?"

"And what do you suggest?" asks Kazama, sneering.

Amagiri hesitates, then exhales slowly, perhaps gathering his thoughts. "Your affairs are none of my business. Nor are they Shiranui's. However, his concerns _are_ valid, and I have shared several of them for some time." He bows his head lower in a gesture of respect. "I can only urge you to make peace by any means possible. Feelings of love may be superfluous in an arrangement such as yours, but outright loathing is more than merely unnecessary. It is detrimental to any sense of alliance."

Sen scowls at her lap, throat aching sharply as helplessness eats at her heart like acid. She thought she was doing the right thing, setting aside her emotions in order to make this decision rationally, for the good of her people, but it seems that is not enough. Must she kill her own feelings altogether in order to be thoroughly selfless?

"Leave us, Amagiri," says Kazama, his voice distant to Sen's ears, and she looks hastily up again to find Amagiri already bowing. His expression seems softer, somehow, almost sympathetic, but he says nothing. He only departs in silence, just like Shiranui.

Forsaking his cushion, Kazama moves forward to kneel beside Sen in a catlike, almost predatory, motion. "You don't believe them, of course," he says, examining her a little too closely for her liking. "That our arrangement needs to change." If Sen didn't know better, she might say he is trying to comfort her, but his tone is too impatient, his assumption too dismissive. She needs a considerable amount of time to think on everything Amagiri and Shiranui have said before pronouncing her final opinion.

"I don't know, Kazama-san," confesses Sen, meeting his eyes only reluctantly. "They've given us much to think about. The way in which our personal and political circumstances intertwine is… far more complex than I anticipated." The truth of the matter is that her duty stretches farther than she ever could have imagined, and she is growing more and more afraid that she will not be able to carry it out after all.

Kazama sighs, as if having expected such an answer. "Nonetheless, I don't intend to shift my sights away from our original goal," he says, and his tone gives her pause. It sounds as though he is attempting to be assertive, but there is an unusual undercurrent of persuasiveness in his voice, and Sen wonders which of them he is trying to convince. "You and I both know that what they ask is impossible."

"I know," murmurs Sen, closing her eyes, although she is not so sure she does anymore. "They mean well, and I can't say they're entirely wrong, but… they're asking us to change who we are, and alter the very foundation of our relationship. That takes time, perhaps more than we have. Assuming Shiranui's assessment of the situation is remotely accurate." She takes a deep breath, opening her eyes again, and stares fixedly at her hands, clasped in her lap. "I _want_ peace, more than anything else. Truly, I do. But even I have my limits."

When Kazama says nothing, Sen looks up at him to find his expression rapidly darkening. "Shiranui's assessment," he mutters, as though he has just remembered something unpleasant, and Sen braces herself. "How long have you known about the discussions in the imperial court?"

Sen moistens her lips, weighing her options. She hoped to avoid having to explain this after Shiranui's elaboration, but it seems she has little choice but to acquiesce; it will only bring more trouble if she refuses to explain, and she can't afford to inadvertently further any misunderstandings. "Since before our marriage. Several weeks, now."

"I don't suppose you were ever going to _tell_ me?" asks Kazama, more angrily. "Have you forgotten that part of our arrangement is rooted in the humans' agreement to leave us alone? If they're still talking about us, they might go back on their word."

"Speculation has no place here," says Sen. "I may have married you, but I am still the Princess of Yase, and that means I decide which of my agents' discoveries are disclosed. And to whom." She looks at Kazama sharply. "I withheld that information from you because no direct threat has been made to any demons. You have a habit of overreacting where humans are concerned, and could easily endanger us all if you take anything amiss, based on what I've seen of your so-called _diplomacy_."

Kazama glowers at her, resting a tense hand on her shoulder. "If you think we're safe just because they haven't made a direct threat—"

"Just because I have not told _you_ does not mean I have done nothing," interrupts Sen, easily matching his glare. "In fact, Kimigiku's mission right now is to find out more about their talk. It does worry me that it has gone on this long, even sporadically."

Kazama bows his head slightly, but does not seem satisfied with this concession. "And will you keep me informed about this situation as it develops? One of the conditions of our marriage is that I keep Yase out of human hands. I ask not because I am your husband, but because I made a promise and I must stand by it. I don't think that's too much to ask, whatever you may say about it."

Sen gives a light sigh. Her better judgment still says no, but she can't very well deny Kazama the rest now that he knows the beginning. "Yes," she says reluctantly. "But only if you promise that you will leave the matter of _handling_ it to me. Even the slightest interference on your part could ruin us."

"What do you take me for?" demands Kazama. "You made the role of consort _more_ than clear during our engagement ceremony. I have no intention of either seizing or using any of your precious information; most of it is irrelevant to me and mine, anyway." His hand slips from her shoulder to her lap, resting on her forearm. "But if you don't trust me enough to tell me the things that could affect us both, how am I expected to uphold my end of our bargain?"

Sen raises her eyes slowly to look up at him, disarmed by another sudden realization. Love is unnecessary, and loathing detrimental, but _trust_ can stand independent of either. She needn't ignore her feelings; she need only make room for faith that regardless of how they feel about one another, they will always act in their people's best interests.

Although Sen thought she _did_ trust Kazama, and that it had been the basis of their relationship in place of love, she sees now that there is more to trust than merely sharing a goal. She assumed that acting against their emotions was synonymous with setting them aside, but instead, they have both been ruled by them.

"Kazama-san," says Sen eventually. There has been too little communication, too much baseless suspicion, too many pointless and inconclusive power struggles between them, but she cannot end it singlehandedly. "I will trust you if you trust me."

Her husband blinks at her, then frowns slightly, as if he does not know how to respond. And, for a fleeting moment, Sen thinks she catches a glimpse of the real Kazama. His shield of arrogant and authoritative nonchalance is gone, if only for a moment, and in his eyes she sees her own vulnerability and confusion. It is not enough to convince her that they can find peace after all, especially if this is the first he has let her see of his true thoughts, but it is a comfort nonetheless to know that she is not entirely alone in feeling overwhelmed.

"Then… I'll try," says Kazama eventually, slowly, the most genuine words she has ever heard leave his mouth. "But it's not in my nature to place my faith in others, so I can't promise anything." He hesitates as if about to say something else, the hint of a vocalization vibrating in the back of his throat, but he lets no further words or even breath past his lips.

Sen smiles somewhat sadly, getting to her feet, and Kazama follows suit after an oddly respectful pause. How similar they are, and yet so different, has never stood out quite so clearly in her mind before. She makes her way slowly to the door back to the corridor, sliding the door open as if in a dream. More so even than her first night with Kazama, it feels as though she has become a slightly different person since she came into this room.

"Wait," says Kazama, pulling Sen back suddenly by the wrist before she can pass into the hallway—and, before she can so much as react, catches her in his arms and bends his head to kiss her. He acts without regard for her own feelings, yet Sen can't help but feel that his insistence stems from a different source than his usual selfish desire. Perhaps he means to seek assurance, or to give it.

Kazama breaks away quickly, but it feels to Sen as if she has been standing encircled in his embrace for days. If she had any strength left, it would take all of it to resist slapping him. As it is, she can only stare, trembling slightly in reflexive wariness, and convince her pounding heart that he is _not_ trying to threaten her demon form out of hiding.

"To seal our latest agreement," explains Kazama, answering the question on Sen's speechless tongue. "If I give you my word, I expect yours in return. And if you won't speak it aloud, I'll take it from your lips myself."

"You could have _asked_ ," shoots back Sen, straightening up as she swats his arms away, and makes an effort to regain some of her dignity. Kazama has never been particularly shy, but he has only grown bolder as the days pass, and he is an unfortunately avid student of her weaknesses. Furthermore, he is still in such close quarters that she can hardly think anymore, not least because he has only ever kissed her as a prelude to events now made impossible.

Kazama offers a faint smirk. "When has _asking_ ever gotten me what I want?"

Sen fights against the impulse to roll her eyes, with limited success. "Now that you've had your fun, will you let me retire to my room?" She has a bath to take, if only so she can feel like less of a failure. Still, given Amagiri and Shiranui's advice, she supposes it is a good thing that she has not yet conceived. She may not agree with their views, but matters as multifaceted as these are the kind she prefers to have time to think about.

"With all my heart," says Kazama, finally stepping back in a gesture of mock respect, and Sen takes a moment to marvel at how quickly he can infuriate her after the moment of truthfulness they'd just shared. Every time she tries to establish some kind of common ground between them, he breaks the illusion of agreement by drawing her attention from his soul back to his body.

"Such as it is," mutters Sen, glancing at the wall in melancholy annoyance. Is Kazama so uncomfortable with his true feelings that he prefers to adopt his usual aggravating demeanor than to admit uncertainty? Would he really rather push Sen away than cultivate even a moment of emotional intimacy with her? (And how can a man so deep in denial proclaim to hate liars with such a passion…?)

"What was that?" asks Kazama, outraged, but there is something almost sheepish about his expression, and Sen smiles tentatively despite herself. Whether or not they can solve their problems before or after their goal is achieved is irrelevant. They may have a long way to go before they are at peace with one another, but there is a certain kind of contentment to be found in constancy, and occasionally commonality. If she can only hold onto this feeling…

"Good _morning_ , Kazama-san," says Sen, and shuts the door between them.


	4. smokescreen

Another week vanishes in a haze of smoke, through which Kazama sees so little of Sen that he finds himself nervous.

Given her condition, there is no longer a point in spending any more time in one another's company than it takes to pass one another in the hall, or sit quietly in the same room at mealtimes or during audiences. Sen seems more aloof and distracted than haughty or hostile, but no matter her exact attitude, the fact remains that she does not seem to think it necessary to respond to most of Kazama's attempts to initiate conversation or even conciliation. More distressingly still, each time he mentions his concerns that she has grown too far removed from him and from her duty, Sen refuses to assuage them.

" _Because_ , Kazama-san," she explains once, with the passive-aggressive patience that comes only with prolonged irritation, "if you insist that our marriage continues to center exclusively around producing a child, it stands to reason that for as long as my condition makes that task impossible, we temporarily lose the basis of our relationship. If indeed I _have_ grown so very distant, you have nothing to complain about."

And with that, she takes her leave, offering neither apology nor further explanation.

Kazama can only stare after her, unsuccessfully trying to stifle the insecurity beginning to seethe in his heart despite her cold logic. He is well aware that for as long as she bleeds, Sen does have every right and reason to avoid him, but something about her tone still bothers him. Something is shifting beneath her surface, but Kazama has neither influence over it nor insight into it. Her behavior may have become predictable of late, but there is no solace in knowing what to expect when all he can anticipate is infuriating ambiguity.

Can Sen so easily retract her assurance that she would trust him if he trusted her? How can she force him to readjust the stride they have only just hit, all for the sake of an unknown factor? Have the other demons' words affected her so deeply? This secrecy is an injustice, but such an insidious one that Kazama cannot fight it directly. He has little choice but to do what he can to convince her to talk, however futilely, and try to smother his many doubts.

So the first two days pass by… and the nights are worse, stretching on in uneventful and unbearably still silence till sunrise. As Kazama lies awake in contemplative unease, his troubled thoughts emerge in full force, drifting indistinctly through his mind, and disappear half-forgotten into nothingness again. Yet, despite these many sleepless hours, the agitation Sen provokes takes its toll so gradually that he does not recognize its emotional extent until the third dawn.

Rather than challenging him to rise and face the day ahead, this bright morning brings not rejuvenation, but rather a profound and restless exhaustion that makes his very soul heavy with doubt. Having been staved off by distraction and determination until now, torturous fatigue clouds his thoughts as thickly as if he is ill. _Something_ must change, thinks Kazama, as sanity and self-preservation intrude to take precedence over his pride. If he cannot influence Sen's perception, he must alter his own instead.

His decision made, he rises and takes up his pipe. That, at least, might make this endless purgatory more tolerable. As his ego returns with weary wakefulness to fend off practicality once more, in the brief time before the opium takes its effect, he tells himself that he does so only because of boredom, but it is equally due to his persistent uncertainty and the torment of insomnia. It has been so long since Kazama has allowed himself to relax like this that the sensation only serves to make him more anxious at first, but finally, he allows himself to let go and sink into a familiar fog of vivid half-dreams.

However, even in this vague and benevolent state of mind, an undercurrent of unrest still permeates his sluggish thoughts. Loath to break the spell and be consumed by the trepidation still lurking just under the vapor's surface, Kazama resolves to go through the motions of life only slowly. Painstakingly, he traces his usual steps through the palace in extraordinary calm, keeping his idle mind occupied with observations solid and true enough to reassure him.

Over the next couple days, Kazama finds himself marveling at his own thoughts. The remnants of his fully conscious mind, now forced into dormancy, still wonder at how pleased he can be with so little, while his reawakened sense of generosity observes how displeased he can be with so much. Such a contradiction might ordinarily become a pitched internal battle, but he lets it be, his patience with himself and with Sen expanding so as to be truly boundless. Kazama is content to admire his wife from a distance forever, if need be.

And admire her he does, through clouded eyes.

He begins to notice everything about Sen, and though he is sure in the back of his mind that he has seen all this and more before, he knows he never saw its value. Sinking into a sensuous reverie, he discovers that even in her human form, everything about her is beautiful. Her straight and flexible back and slender figure; her smooth alabaster skin and gentle curves; the few strands of hair that escape her careful combing and fall into her face; her deep expressive eyes, framed by long dark lashes; her small gesticulations for emphasis as she speaks, her tone soft yet somehow commanding; her peculiar odorless scent, at once untamed and demure, like wildflowers…

Yet, for all his acknowledgment of Sen's beauty, Kazama's fascination with her remains purely aesthetic. His more carnal desires have been quelled by insubstantial and formless fantasy, even if they have not been truly sated. And though Sen looks at him less sharply now, her countenance more curious than wary, she still does not address him, so Kazama holds his tongue and resolves not to speak until spoken to. He only offers her faint half-smiles each time they meet and part, enigmatic even to himself, and returns to his quarters to spend the rest of his time alone.

In those isolated hours, nothing seems to matter anymore except the smoke expanding in his lungs to fill him with artificial serenity, spilling into open air in roiling exhalations. Time slips through his fingers along with his myriad thoughts of awed contentment, dissolving like clouds into the air as he moves smoothly through his usual schedule. Until the second dusk impresses itself on his entranced consciousness.

And with it, a stern voice: "Kazama," says Amagiri from outside the door, and his tone remains impassive, but Kazama knows him well enough (or perhaps he is simply intoxicated enough) to hear the worry. "I understand your predicament, but I must caution you against retreating too far into yourself. The servants are beginning to talk, and you know that escaping is not a valid long-term solution."

"I am not _escaping_ ," says Kazama, turning his newly emptied pipe idly in his hand, and continues staring out the open door. The mountainside below is a natural sea of gold and scarlet and occasional green, set ablaze in the brilliant sunset. Yet the leaves still cling to their branches, all the while knowing they must fall. It is foolish of them to fight against their fate, yet their defiance makes them twice as vibrant in their final months as in the rest of their lives. Life itself is no less futile—and no less beautiful.

Remembering Amagiri's presence suddenly as he glimpses a tree with leaves the exact color of his hair, Kazama clears his throat. "I simply have nothing better to do," he continues, enunciating more carefully; his tongue is clumsy, and does not appreciate such sudden use after so long lying motionless in his mouth. "You ought to know that by now."

Amagiri heaves an exasperated sigh, and his voice grows sharper, more pointed. "Nor does your father, I presume, and nor did your grandfather."

"I know better than to make their mistakes," says Kazama, the faintest spark of annoyance kindling in his newly tranquil heart. He knows Amagiri means to remind him that demons are just as vulnerable to addiction as any human, but Kazama merely smokes as an occasional relaxant, nothing more. He is not as weak of will as his predecessors; he could never allow himself to be ruled by a tool like this. "Your concern is noted. Dismissed."

"Very well," says Amagiri, disapproving as ever. His footsteps retreat, but his words linger long after he is gone, troubling Kazama so that he cannot bring himself to refill his pipe. But he soon decides it is all for the best; it will enable him to save the rest of his opium for another such desperate occasion, and he must allow enough time for his body to cleanse itself of all the side effects. What might ordinarily take the form of resignation or resistance instead manifests as sedate acceptance. As if to reward him for his wisdom, sleep claims him as easily that night as the last, and carries him effortlessly through the next morning and into the afternoon.

The aftermath only makes matters worse, of course. The remaining symptoms and side effects are lessened thanks to his demon blood, and will likely be gone by morning, but the day seems duller than ever now that his thoughts are no longer enhanced. The vast majority of his altered reflections have faded from his mind by now, as reason takes its rightful place, but he cannot help but feel a twinge of shame whenever he looks at her, even if he does not understand why. Is this guilt because he has changed his mind about her beauty, or because his thoughts and feelings no longer flow freely enough for him to acknowledge it…?

Moreover, though Sen still does not approach him, her demeanor remains softer, and her expression more inquisitive as she glances askance at him. She has never watched Kazama so closely before; often, she prefers not to pay him the slightest bit of attention. Her uncharacteristic level of interest unsettles him far more than apathy or anger, and he soon takes to avoiding her line of sight altogether.

At a loss for what else to do with himself, Kazama finally shuts himself in his quarters, forcing his jumbled thoughts to leave his body in physical form: ink splattered on paper as illegible characters, to be burned at his earliest convenience. Once it is too dark to see, he does not light a lamp; rather, he retires to bed satisfied, if exhausted, only to discover that his strategy worked too well. Having convinced himself to expel his vague anxieties from his mind, he finds within the hour that his libido has returned with a vengeance to fill the newfound space in his soul.

Drifting in and out of fitful slumber through restless hours, Kazama almost longs for the nights when the thoughts that kept him awake were confined to his head. Now, his keen memory clashes with his better judgment as all his subconscious observations of Sen surface in lucid detail, his entire body wielding them like weapons in its mighty struggle against what remains of his rational mind.

Kazama's blood rises and falls in feverish yearning, interrupting his insufficient rest constantly as his every sense heightens to maddening levels. Even the slightest stirring of skin against fabric as he shifts uncomfortably in place is all too evocative of skin on skin. Sen has awakened inside him a dangerous hunger, born not of careful thought and measured action to calculated purpose, but of unbridled and poisonous lust. Pointless passion holds him hostage, its tainted claws sinking into his spine, his abdomen, his loins, its hot breath eliciting a febrile flush across his face and throat—

But every time he almost succumbs to unavailing desire, Kazama stays his hands and grits his teeth and repeats the mantra that _the point of pleasure is procreation_ ; bringing it upon himself would be meaningless. And, as if his resolution is a release unto itself, his breathing deepens, his body relaxes… and the cycle starts over again. So the light of dawn provides the only touch he allows his aching body to feel, cold and gentle like the look in Sen's eyes as they catch their breath. How long has it been since Kazama has seen it for himself?

 _Seven days_ , he realizes, and scowls. He may know little of females and their mysterious cycles, but he strongly suspects that it is time Sen let him back into her bed.

Greeting the morning with a noise somewhere between a groan and a yawn, Kazama forces the rest of himself upright, going through the motions of his morning ritual (and including a bath for good measure) as slowly as he can stand to do it. Once he has calmed himself enough to be considered decent, he dresses only haphazardly. There are more important things to be thinking about right now than tidiness. First and foremost is seeking relief from his condition by ascertaining his wife's. Kazama has had more than enough of solitude.

Impatience shortens his temper and lengthens his strides to the main hall. That is where Sen usually is, at this hour. Yet he stops outside the door as muted voices drift out from within, soft and secretive. One of them is Sen's, but the other… Kazama might have heard it once or twice, but not often enough to put a face to the sound. More importantly, despite its softness, it is distinctly male. Narrowing his eyes, Kazama snaps the door open without announcing himself, and the boy within jumps.

No, not a boy. He appears to be Sen's age, or perhaps even slightly older, although his shy and diffident demeanor makes him seem much younger. But regardless of his age, he sits a short distance away from Sen's shoulder, closer than she allows even her husband. He should know better than to sit so near a married woman.

As Kazama looks him over scathingly, the boy's pale cheeks pale still further, his eyes at a loss for where to turn, but Sen is entirely unruffled. "I see you're finally yourself again," she says, her tone brisk and disinterested, and she does not trouble to look up from the document in her hands. "How disappointing. Are you here for an audience, Kazama-san?"

"Is _he_?"

Sen glances up as if startled by his harsh tone, and blinks a few times as she sees his expression. "This is Hiroaki-kun," she explains, sounding as though Kazama should know this already. As she introduces the boy, he bows, visibly trembling even from this distance. "He is the grandson of Osamu-san, the village elder. His family has served mine for generations."

"And what is he doing here?" Kazama glances pointedly between him and Sen, willing her to understand that he is asking more about their proximity than his purpose, and then fixes his gaze on the cowering boy. "What business do you have with my wife?" Compared to Sen, he is more likely by far to provide answers if interrogated.

Sure enough, the boy opens his mouth, but no words come out, and he closes it again within a few moments, shaking his head.

After a short pause, Sen speaks instead. "He was delivering a message from the outside," she says after a pause, holding up what appears to be a letter, and the look in her eyes can only be described as flinty. There is a fierce aura about her, almost one of protectiveness, and it only serves to make Kazama angrier. What attachment can she have to this boy of no consequence so strong that she would make excuses on his behalf?

"I was asking _him_ ," retorts Kazama irritably, his eyes snapping back to the boy. "So, you were delivering a letter," he persists, making an effort to at least sound patient. The boy nods haltingly, although he still does not dare look up. "And you're still here… why?"

"Is there a problem, Kazama-san?" interrupts Sen coolly, tilting her head, and Kazama turns to face her in disbelief. How can she so persistently ignore the direction in which his questions tend? "Part of this letter contains sensitive information and should not be read aloud. Moreover, it concerns Hiroaki-kun's latest orders. I thought it only right that he should read it with me."

If Sen will not allow Kazama to address the boy, he has no further purpose in the room with them. Rather than respond to his wife, Kazama turns his eyes down to the boy and jerks his head at the door, still standing open. "You—get out of my sight." Even before Kazama finishes speaking, the boy bows still lower and scampers away in a hurry, stumbling on his way, and pauses only to close the door behind him.

Kazama watches him go with dry amusement before stalking over to Sen to take his place. To his own surprise, he _wants_ to believe that she has no other reason than business for allowing a servant to sit so close to her, or for explaining the situation on his behalf. Still, Sen has been so distant lately that he cannot help but be possessive. Especially given the direction his thoughts have tended for hours on end.

As he settles sullenly into seiza, Sen heaves an exaggerated sigh. "Don't forget, Kazama-san, you said you would trust me. And if you don't trust me, I won't trust you."

"I said I would _try_ to trust you," Kazama corrects her. "And, as I recall, I promised nothing. This is… difficult for me." He clears his throat, glowering. "But it might be less so if you _talked_ to me, instead of keeping whatever misgivings you might have to yourself."

Sen frowns. "You already know my misgivings. Or at least I _tried_ to confide in you, shortly after Shiranui left us. As I recall, you simply asserted your own views over mine instead of addressing my concerns." She shrugs, but something about the motion seems forced. "Over the past week, I have not had the patience to broach the subject a second time. You'll have to forgive me."

"You complain night and day that I'm a terrible husband, but then you don't tell me what you really want from me," says Kazama, annoyed already. "Or, more often, what you want is impossible. What will it take for you to talk to me?"

It is a rhetorical question, but Sen answers it anyway. "Try valuing me as highly as my servants do," she says, her tone an odd mixture of emotions Kazama cannot pick out individually, although the most prominent among them appear to be disapproval and resignation. "I might be more inclined to spend more time in your company if you did."

"I am _not_ your servant, any more than you are mine," retorts Kazama.

Sen raises her eyebrows as if in surprise, although the sardonic glint in her eyes says otherwise. "If you know I am not your servant, you could stand to stop treating me like one. I've learned by now that every time you talk to me, it's because you want something."

"I _don't_ treat you like a servant," snaps Kazama, more and more frustrated. "I ask nothing of you, except that you share my bed. And in order for that to continue, it's important that we discuss our differences." He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth in preparation to say more, but Sen does not give him the chance.

"If all you ask is that I share your bed, then you shouldn't care if I talk to one of my attendants," says Sen, and again gives Kazama no time to reply as she heaves a somewhat melodramatic sigh and rushes on. "Why are you really here, Kazama-san? I'll listen to whatever you have to say, as is my wifely duty, but I am not ready to _talk_ yet."

Kazama glares at her, waiting an extra pointed moment for her to realize just how ironic that statement is, considering that she just glossed over him twice, but she remains obligingly silent. Yet, judging by the spark in her eyes, she is fully aware of his purpose in pausing. "I'm here to discuss your _availability_ ," hisses Kazama finally, "but that can wait until after you tell me what that letter is about. Speaking of promises, you said you'd keep me informed of any developments."

Sen bristles so instantaneously that Kazama almost congratulates himself on hitting the mark on his first try, but stops dead as he notices the scorn in her eyes. "You jump to conclusions far too easily," she says, eyes flashing reprovingly. "This letter is not from Kimigiku, or indeed any of my agents."

Kazama frowns in confusion; who else would send word from outside the village, and why else would such a message be considered classified? "Then…" He trails off, but Sen only stares at him in mock innocence, half-amused, and he gleans from her expression that he must finish his own question; she will volunteer no information of her own free will. "Who _is_ it from?"

"Chizuru-chan," says Sen, barely hiding a small smile, and Kazama blinks at her in genuine astonishment. It must have been months, or perhaps even a year, since he has heard that name spoken aloud. "We've been exchanging letters whenever we have the time, ever since we parted ways. Admittedly, our letters come months apart, but our correspondence is continuous."

"What does she say?" asks Kazama, his interest piqued. Ordinarily, he might insist on discussing Sen's condition first, as he came to do, but the unexpected mention of Yukimura Chizuru has distracted him from his purpose more than he would have thought possible mere moments ago. Of course, he still does not understand how a letter like that might involve a servant, but he will judge that for himself once Sen reveals its contents.

Oddly, Sen neither responds nor refuses to answer, instead proffering the letter after a brief but noticeable hesitation. There is something melancholy about her expression that Kazama cannot quite identify, but judging from her weary half-smile, it is not so sorrowful that the message contains bad news. Whatever tidings Chizuru sends, they must be bittersweet. Taking the note apprehensively, Kazama starts reading.

 _Dear Osen-chan_ , begins the letter, although Kazama can no longer remember what Chizuru's voice sounds like. _I hope this letter finds you in good health and happiness!_

 _I'd like to congratulate you once more on your wedding, and thank you a thousand times for everything you've done for me. I hope your arrangement will someday be as agreeable as mine. You deserve nothing less. I know I've told you I wanted to be there for the ceremony, but it isn't only Heisuke's condition that prevents us from traveling anymore. You see, we're expecting a baby!_

Kazama stops reading out of shock and looks up at Sen slowly, understanding the complexity of her countenance at last. But something keeps him from commenting. All bitter and ironic observations evaporate from his tongue as he notices that her gaze is fixed unblinking on the opposite wall, mournful and almost defeated. Except for the hint of guilty frustration that glistens in her eyes.

His brow twitching in an automatic frown, Kazama is torn between feeling vindicated and sympathetic. It is only right that Sen be reminded of her duty before he has to mention it himself, but this method seems unnecessarily cruel. She earnestly wishes to be selfless, to set aside her natural envy and be happy for her friend, but cannot bring herself to do so.

A part of Kazama wonders whether he is partly to blame for that, but as Sen's eyes flick aside and almost meet his own, he realizes he is staring, and drops his gaze automatically back to the letter.

 _I'm sincerely sorry if this news comes at a bad time; I don't mean to gloat. It's just such a surprise, because I remember Father's research mentioned that furies might be infertile. But even a tiny chance is still a chance, and the water at home is enough to mitigate most of Heisuke's fury symptoms, so I guess that was one of them!_

 _Or maybe the chance is as slim as ever, but we've overcome the odds through the frequency of our passions. I know you've often wondered about that before, however discreetly, and now I have no choice but to admit the depth of our affection. That said, I won't tell you any more about myself, but if you need to confide in me any details of your private life, I'll listen. I may not be as close at hand as Kimigiku-san, but I still want to help you however I can._

"'The frequency of our passions'," repeats Kazama disgustedly, grimacing, and holds Chizuru's letter slightly away from him as he stares at Sen in disbelief. "Why are you making me _read_ this drivel? Is this an especially unconventional assassination attempt? I think I'm going to be sick."

"Don't exaggerate, Kazama-san," says Sen, scowling reproachfully. "I'm not _making_ you do anything. I offered you the letter, and you accepted it." She sighs, her face relaxing into rueful sentimentality as she stares into the distance, and her tone becomes more than a little wistful. "I've never seen a girl so much in love. Chizuru-chan is as shy as you might expect about her private life, but she is more than willing to spill out paragraphs upon paragraphs about the virtues of her husband. They're practically love letters. Sometimes I wonder if I should send a few of them back addressed to Toudou-san."

" _Spare_ me," mutters Kazama, and reluctantly keeps reading.

 _Anyway, Heisuke and I haven't decided on a name if we have a son. But if by some miracle we have a daughter, we're going to name her Sen. You are the reason the two of us are free to have a child in the first place, after all, and I'm sure you've saved both our lives at least once. I'm sorry our contentment comes at such a high cost to yourself, but I hope you can find some small happiness in knowing we're making good use of the opportunity you gave us._

"She writes as though you are despondent," says Kazama, scrutinizing Sen's expression closely; sure enough, she barely looks at him. Regardless of whether she chooses to admit it or not, something is definitely wrong. "Is there no satisfaction to be found in fulfilling your expectations?"

"I already told you I have no wish to talk," says Sen, but her voice trails off into a sigh as if she has resigned herself. She has glared at him for much less before, but now, she only looks perhaps a little frustrated—more weary than anything else. "Are you happy with our arrangement, Kazama-san?"

He blinks a few times, trying to understand. "It doesn't matter," he says, and it is not an attempt to evade the question. That is the absolute truth. "I'll be happy once I have my heir, and our means are to that end."

"If you _will be_ happy, then you are not happy now," says Sen matter-of-factly, and Kazama is once again perplexed by her peculiar obsession with contentment. She must know that for a demon of her station, happiness is a luxury, not a necessity. Did those responsible for raising her neglect such a crucial part of her education? "Why not?"

Kazama's frown becomes a scowl. "How could I possibly be happy with you?" he shoots back, willing her to understand. He is undeniably discontent, but there are solutions to that, if only Sen could set aside her pride long enough to compromise. Kazama has been trying to navigate her boundaries all week, and has been summarily shut down. Let her navigate _his_ for awhile.

Sen rolls her eyes. "Oh, Kazama-san," she says, lifting the back of her hand to her forehead and pretending to swoon. "You certainly know how to make a girl feel special. But I think you'll find that you just answered your own question. Duty or not, how could I possibly be happy with you?"

Kazama opens his mouth, but has no ready retort, and turns his eyes back to the letter, though Sen's scorching gaze lingers uncomfortably long on his face.

 _I had been going to close the letter there, but Heisuke just reminded me to tell you about the one thing that's been bothering us for some time. As you know, we departed for the Yukimura village after we parted ways with you and Kazama-san. However, I didn't mention that we stopped by Father's house to search for his notes first, in case there was anything useful there_ _—b_ _ut we soon discovered that all his research was missing. In the moment, Heisuke and I thought Sanan might have taken it when he left Edo, so we didn't think anything of it, and let the matter drop._

 _But as time passes, I find myself growing more and more restless. What if they make their way into the wrong hands? No matter whether Sanan took the notes with him, or whether someone broke into the house and stole them, I can't find out if they've been destroyed. For all I know, the thief could have been Father himself, although that possibility doesn't worry me any less. In fact, it might even worry me more, considering that he knows how to use his research better than anyone._

Kazama looks up. "Haven't you told her yet?" he asks, careful not to mention the exact event of which he speaks lest he trigger something. Sen confided in him long ago that she retains a few memories from her time under the fake's control, and that one of them was of killing Kodo. Shortly before she broke down in hysterical tears, she added that the fake had been teaching her to 'hunt' for her own food, and that she fears she drank a fellow demon dry.

"I told you, I'm not sure that's what happened," says Sen, looking away. Though her voice is uncertain, it is more because she is lying than because she actually has doubts. "It could have been a nightmare, for all I know. I… couldn't tell the difference." A barely perceptible shudder runs through her body as she speaks, and Kazama feels the familiar helpless anger flare to life in his heart at the recognition that even more than a year later, after all he has done to help her fight it, the trauma lingers.

After he liberated Sen from that fake's corrupted grasp, she kept herself together remarkably well, even going so far as to make a few friendly jokes, but Kazama could see how pale she was. The moment Chizuru and Toudou went their way, she practically fainted, and of course it fell to Kazama to escort her the rest of the way to Yase and ensure her safety. And he did so gladly, if only to get to know the woman to whom he would entrust himself and his heir.

He has no doubt that Sen has put his kindness far from her mind—that she has chosen to ignore everything he did for her—that his absence of almost a year erased whatever semblance of gratitude she might have felt. But then again, perhaps she never felt it to begin with. Except for her nightmares, she kept as quiet then as she has been this past week. And upon their arrival at Yase, her thanks were lukewarm, overshadowed by her surprise and relief as he initially declined her offer to bear him a child out of wedlock.

Kazama's astonishment at himself was scarcely less, but something deep inside him interfered so that he could not even think of such a thing. Compassion, perhaps, but more likely ambition. Even then, he knew that a marriage would be more advantageous, but she was still recovering; he had to tread carefully. It could be years before Sen would come around to his way of thinking, so Kazama left her alone, biding his time for a full six months before he sent Amagiri to establish his offer…

"Well?" asks Sen, breaking into his thoughts, although her voice is more curious than impatient. "Are you done?" Realizing his eyes have drifted contemplatively to the floor, Kazama looks hastily down at the letter again.

 _I want to say that preventing the continued creation of furies is my duty as the head of the Yukimura clan, and maybe that's true in a way, but it's mostly because I feel responsible for Father's actions. I don't want his research to make anyone else suffer, whether they be human or demon._

 _Please don't take this to mean I suspect you or Kazama-san of taking the notes. I just want you to know my thoughts and, if it's not too much trouble, to tell me if you find anything at all, even if it's only a hint as to their whereabouts. Father's research has already hurt you more than enough, and I can't bear the thought of anyone else being made to endure anything similar._

 _You are closer to me than a sister, and your letters never fail to make me smile. I hope I can do the same for you in a time like this. My thoughts and prayers are with you, always. I wish you all the best of luck and all possible joy in your new situation—_

"Yukimura Chizuru," murmurs Kazama aloud, letting out a long breath, and hands the letter back to Sen. He has never seen her signature before, but something about the way she writes her surname seems so much more confident than he imagined, as though she has grown into it.

"And now you see why I needed to talk with Hiroaki-kun," says Sen, and Kazama narrows his eyes. Any reassurance her words might have offered is lessened by her cool and dismissive confidence. "He is privy to all but the most sensitive of my agents' missions, and manages my affairs whenever I cannot. I thought it would be prudent to share this information with him sooner rather than later."

"He's a servant," points out Kazama. "A _boy_. You should have come to me. I may not be trained, but I can learn," he adds, speaking over Sen's protests. "And need I remind you, our arrangement states that your people are mine, too."

"Then yours are mine," snaps Sen. "Not that any of them attended our wedding, other than Amagiri." From her accusatory tone, it must have been bothering her for some time, though she glances away as if ashamed for bringing it up. "Apart from what my agents have told me, I have heard precious little about your family."

Kazama glances at her disdainfully. "There is precious little to _say_ ," he says stiffly. "And it's none of your concern, anyway. _I_ barely consider them family." But he cannot quite meet her eyes as he says it. Though he himself believes that much, the sentiment is still too close to a lie for him to be comfortable. "Some of their blood flows in my veins, and furthering their success is my duty. It isn't personal, so it's no surprise they didn't attend the wedding."

Sen stares at him incredulously. "How can family _not_ be personal?"

Startled by her vehemence, Kazama searches Sen's eyes, but finds only bewilderment, almost _hurt_. Is she serious? "The same way our attempt to create a family isn't personal. As I had been going to explain, my father doesn't like traveling, and the rest of my family stays by his side. Only I have ever been permitted to leave the village and surrounding area, and then, only because my father gave me his title and sent me off to repay our debt to the Satsuma."

Sen tilts her head in apparent confusion. "And does your father not consider his son's wedding a valid reason to travel, or to let his family travel on his behalf? Even if his connection to you is one of responsibility and not affection, one would think he'd consider it _his_ duty to attend."

"I couldn't say," replies Kazama evasively. "But in any case, it's for the best that he didn't. If Shiranui is right, and my family disapproves, it would have made matters needlessly complicated. You'd likely have been interrogated about your motives for accepting me, or perhaps even confronted outright."

"I'm sorry that my _single_ human ancestor has tainted my entire lineage," says Sen, her voice taut. "I didn't know it made such an impact on my desirability. My mistake."

Kazama shakes his head. "If they do disapprove, that isn't why. They know you're a purer prospect than most, which is probably the reason they haven't dared say anything to my face. My clan simply dislikes compromise, and since you were born and raised to be the leader of your clan, that means we must share our power and influence with you." He lets out a long breath. "Whereas if I married Yukimura Chizuru…"

"You would have assimilated her into your clan unconditionally, since she no longer has any relatives or territory," finishes Sen, her voice hushed. "Is that why you insisted that our firstborn be heir to your clan and not mine? To appease your family?"

Kazama inclines his head by way of affirmative. "I thought it worked, since I didn't hear any complaints afterwards. But it's never that easy with my clan. I should have known they'd find something to criticize anyway." He glances at Sen sideways, his heart skipping a beat as words spill out unbidden. "Speaking of complaining, how long does your _condition_ usually last?"

Sen looks startled at the change in subject, and colors slightly as she recognizes what he means, but clears her throat and looks away to gather her composure. "O-oh, five days on average," she says, somewhat hesitantly, and Kazama stares at her in blank shock that quickly warms to fury. How long did he lie in agony last night, believing there to be no respite? And how much time before that did he waste in a haze of smoke?

"Why didn't you _tell_ me it was over?" demands Kazama, gripping Sen's shoulder as all thoughts of Chizuru's letter vanish from his mind. Sen tenses beneath him, but he does not loosen his hold, and keeps his eyes trained on her face. It is important that she understands the gravity of the situation, even if he knows better than to think she will sympathize.

"I needed the extra time to recover," retorts Sen, her fingers curling around his wrist with surprising strength, although (to his puzzlement) she does not try to move his hand away. "I may be a demon, but not all the symptoms are physical. And in any case, I _have_ had rather a lot to think about over the past day or two. There are still preparations to be made in case the humans betray us, and now I have to think of where to start the search for Ko… for Chizuru-chan's father's notes."

"What you _have_ to do," growls Kazama, "is lie with your husband. Neither of us are leaving this room until I get what I want. You put me off for at least a full day after you should have come back to my bed, and I suffered for it last night. I've waited a week for it to be over, and I will be denied no longer."

Sen narrows her eyes. "This is not the time, Kazama-san."

"I don't care," spits back Kazama. "I'll take you by force if I have to."

"No, you won't," says Sen, as coolly and confidently as if she is stating an established fact, and Kazama clenches his teeth. All his days of crushing insecurity, and all his nights of relentless turmoil, threaten to come spilling out in a cloud of smoke. Not the calm euphoria of opium, but the hint of a wildfire consuming him from within. "It takes both of us to make this work, Kazama-san, and I am _not_ in the mood to humor you."

"You never _are_ , Sen," points out Kazama, dropping his voice to a murmur and moving closer to his wife. "If you don't talk to me, and you won't lie with me, then what do we have left?" As he speaks, he slides his other hand up Sen's back to rest on her other shoulder, and she shivers. "Without your cooperation, only one of those options is still available. By refusing me both, you have chosen for yourself which one you must give me."

Sen gives a long exhalation, letting her hand fall back to her side. "Even if I were to start talking now, you have already decided which you want more," she says, eyes flicking down and up again pointedly. "No matter how much you say you want me to talk to you, even if only to smooth things out between our evenings, it is never as important as those evenings themselves."

"It wasn't lack of _talking_ that kept me awake last night," snaps Kazama.

Sen makes a faint noise in the back of her throat. "I think I liked you better when you were smoking. At least then I could pretend you loved me. You weren't selfish or insistent; you just… looked at me. Tenderly, almost." She pauses, and the light in her eyes is desperate, almost pleading. "Was that just an illusion, or do you keep that part of yourself locked away somewhere?"

"I don't care," says Kazama, at the end of his limited patience, and slides his fingers down to curl around Sen's wrist with all the strength of his intentions. She tenses, and her eyes flash, but she says nothing. "You and I both know that _you owe me an heir_. Any opposition is irrelevant; this is the objective truth. Do you understand?"

Kazama shakes Sen slightly to emphasize his point, and she jumps, but her voice is steady enough. "I understand that you are too weak to know what you want," she says, her voice barely above a breath, but it gains strength as she looks over at him in disgust. "And that you care only about yourself, and your clan, although even your familial ties seem tenuous. I understand that you will do anything for even the slightest amount of power over me… and that your insolence knows no bounds."

" _My_ inso—?!"

"You are my _consort_ , Kazama-san," interrupts Sen, yanking her wrist from his grasp. "And you should know your place. I may owe you an heir, but you owe me a modicum of respect. If not as your wife, then as a princess, and as the leader of the village on whose hospitality you rely." She looks imperiously over at him. "You have no power to keep me here longer than I wish to stay."

Kazama rolls his eyes and, in one fluid motion, lunges the rest of the way forward and pins Sen to the floor. In this case, actions speak louder than words.

She tenses immediately, so quickly that it might even happen before she hits the floor, but does not throw him off. "Are you _sure_?" whispers Kazama, leaning in close to breathe into the crook of Sen's neck, and relishes her suppressed shudder.

Such is the nature of her consent. Kazama slides a forearm behind her shoulders to prop her up, his other hand busying itself with her obi. As he works, Sen's kimono loosens in front, and he resists the urge to pull it apart immediately, instead making sure her obi is entirely undone and out of the way. Once that is done, Kazama lowers Sen to the floor again—ensuring that her head rests on her cushion—and kneels over her to part her lapels with both hands.

As her upper body is exposed, Sen fixes her dull eyes on the ceiling, but nonetheless permits Kazama to undress her, as she has never done before. A surge of renewed ardor thrills through him at the thought, energizing his movements as he meticulously lays her body bare beneath him. Soon, only her lower undergarment remains, but there is no need to remove it yet. It ensures that he must delay at least long enough for her to be ready to accept him.

Positioning himself carefully atop Sen, Kazama caresses her cheek with oddly tremulous fingers. "Look at me," he whispers, but cannot wait for her to obey before pressing his mouth to hers savagely. Finally, at last, dominance and control.

Yet, as he breaks away to trail kisses down her jaw to her throat, Kazama cannot help but think that Sen is making this too easy. She is reciprocating—dispassionately, but still reciprocating—without a struggle, simply looking at him with piercing eyes as she catches her breath. "See, you know this is wrong," says Sen, but bares her neck all the same. "I think you'll find that you have assumed _my_ position."

Kazama makes an indistinct noise of annoyance in the back of his throat. He should have known she would resort to her usual nonsensical protests. "What of it?" he asks, his voice a growl. "I told you I would take you by force if need be, and I meant it." He nips her neck for emphasis, and Sen's breath catches. He smiles into her skin at the sound. "Gods, woman, do you _know_ how badly I wanted you last night? I'd have given almost anything just for this."

To Kazama's astonishment, Sen actually laughs, the sound low and throaty. As she brings her hand up to caress his face with the edges of her nails, he shivers despite himself, unconsciously leaning into her touch. "Except power," she murmurs. "Did you want me as I am, or did you only want to expose my true form?" There is the hint of a seductive threat in her voice, a dangerous glint of gold deep in her stubborn amber eyes. Perilous, but enticing.

Pulling back still further, Kazama shakes his head haltingly. "Just… you," he says, although something feels off. Untrue, like an unintentional and unconscious lie. Ever since he came to the conclusion that he would have to be subtler in order to coax her true form out of hiding, he has made an effort to suppress all thoughts of it, lest they drive him mad. But, deep down, his wishes to see her altered shape have not changed.

Sen has not forgotten, either.

"Now, Kazama-san," she purrs, her tone teasingly scolding as she shifts beneath him, and her voice alone is enough to make him swallow a vocalization. "If that were true, you would be satisfied with whatever answer I gave. You wouldn't keep pushing me like this." Slowly, she sits up, and the ferocity of the expression in her eyes alone is enough to push Kazama back to accommodate her. "I wonder what you'll do when I finally _do_ transform?"

"Sen," growls Kazama, comprehension dawning on him as he realizes her plan, and he shakes his head in furious denial. "Don't you dare." She must know that it is not simply the sight of her demon form he covets. _He_ wants to be the one to force it out, to see her struggle against transformation inch by agonizing inch until she is finally overtaken by that divine power. How dare she take that away from him!

"You really _don't_ know what you want, do you?" asks Sen scornfully, her eyes glinting gold—and stay that way, burning like miniature suns. "Whatever I do, you want me to do it differently." An unearthly wind like hot breath ruffles her dark hair as it whitens from root to tip, her ear-tips elongating to subtle points. "You are determined to be dissatisfied with me. Whenever we disagree, you insist I am in the wrong, yet if I adhere to your wishes, you complain as though I ignored them."

"That's not…" begins Kazama, moving instinctively backwards as Sen advances.

"From the beginning, I have tried to establish peace by any means available to us, but you have opposed me at every turn," snarls Sen. From her forehead emerge not two horns but three, all perfectly smooth, and the spine in the middle of her forehead is smaller, misleadingly delicate. "Your ideas of what that means are too contradictory to support us, and you refuse to even _listen_ to mine. Every time we try to talk, it leads only to further disagreement. And don't forget, my decision to trust you is conditional on yours. Your interrogations and accusations are more than enough to convince me that we're still not there yet."

" _Sen_ ," says Kazama, but his breath hitches as she grasps his wrist more tightly than should be possible. So this is the legendary power of a descendant of Suzuka Gozen. She is using more of her strength, to be sure, but he has an odd sense that she has _always_ been this powerful—that she has somehow integrated the full extent of her demonic abilities into her human form—and that this appearance is more symbolic than anything else.

"I have had _enough_ ," hisses Sen, resting her other hand in the center of his chest and shoving him down. "It's impossible for me to please you, no matter what I do, so I have decided that what you want no longer matters. I told you once, and I'll tell you again." Her voice drops to a whisper as she pins him down. "For as long as we are in Yase, you are only my consort. _Know your place_."

Kazama's throat closes itself off before he can protest as Sen leans down and kisses him hungrily, tangling her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. He lets out a faint and helpless moan, his eyes sliding shut on their own… but as soon as he raises his hands to run them along her back, she breaks away. Barely. "Take off your clothes, Kazama," she breathes, her lips so close they still brush his, and he can taste the bitterness of her words. Frowning, Kazama opens his eyes and mouth together, but Sen rests a willowy finger on his lips in warning. "Take. Them. Off."

Glaring at her somewhat uneasily, Kazama feels that it would be in his best interest to obey, and disrobes in a hurry. Ordinarily, he would not be so nervous, but Sen is still in her true form; she must be planning something. Especially as she stops him before he can close the distance between them again. "Give me that," she says, indicating his haori on the floor beside them.

Kazama picks it up numbly, but his judgment reawakens before he can hand it over, and he narrows his eyes. "Why?"

Sen's only response at first is a smile, tugging the robe from his slackened grasp. "Surely, if you so earnestly desired to see my true form, you must have prepared yourself for the consequences," she says, turning his haori inside out and slipping into it.

"C-consequences…?" echoes Kazama, bemused, but Sen does not explain. She only tugs off her last layer and arches over him to kiss him again, more insistently still, as if ordering him to be silent. His body obeys more completely than he intends, all his conscious thoughts disappearing at the force of her passion. Yet, though her hands and mouth both wander, she keeps them firmly above his waist. And ensures that his own do the same, firmly denying him the only thing he is certain he wants.

Burning minutes pass them by, fleeting bruises blossoming on Kazama's throat from Sen's harsh half-kisses, driving him wild with desire as aching throbbing _need_ courses through his veins, making him desperate for more. Sen may insist on control, but she should know by now that Kazama has his ways of subverting it. Careful not to make her suspicious of his intentions, he brushes his hand up and down her back, then uses it to support her as he sits up suddenly beneath her. Bending his legs to trap her in his lap, he pulls her down onto him before she can react, letting out a shuddering sigh of relief as he finds his rightful place in her.

Ignoring Sen's gasp of shock and rage, Kazama leans forward to trail his tongue along her neck, and she shivers convulsively. As he takes her earlobe in his lips, she inhales sharply, the sound a dry and icy contrast to the wet heat enveloping him below. Yet, despite her clear arousal, she closes her hand around his throat so that he has no choice but to freeze.

"Stay down," growls Sen, slamming Kazama into the ground, although the only thing that makes him obey is the fact that she has finally started moving (or so he tells himself).

Slowly, at first, much too slowly, but then faster and sharper despite her natural softness, rolling her hips back and forth with all the intensity of her frustration. Kazama's breathing becomes shallower as he soaks in the sensations. If these are _consequences_ , he should be sure to offend her more often. The thought of trying to reciprocate crosses his mind, but he knows that he will not be able to withstand her for more than a few minutes at most…

Sen is too angry to be inventive, though even her repetitive ellipses are enough to set him gasping before long in anticipation of the fall. But she stops short at the precipice for the second time, sensing the shift inside her. The last time this happened, she tried to elicit from him a promise he could not give. What does she want this time?

As Kazama opens his eyes to toss her a faint glare, he notices that Sen is gazing down at him in undisguised disdain. "Already?" is all she says, maddeningly still and superior, and raises a conceited eyebrow.

"And whose fault is that?" pants Kazama. "It's been… some time." But Sen only looks down at him impassively, and even has the nerve to cross her arms over her chest in a way that might even be intended to imitate him. "Fuck, Sen, do you want me to beg?" Kazama's voice almost cracks, when Sen does not start moving again, and digs his fingernails into her hips as though spurring on a horse. " _Move_."

Though Sen stiffens at the pressure of his nails, she gives the ghost of a smile, to his surprise and suspicion. "As you wish, Kazama-san," she whispers, almost affectionately, and then… she dismounts as easily as breathing, sliding back to leave open air all around him.

Kazama frowns spasmodically, and Sen's hands pick up the slack, tightening and twisting in a slick sort of friction. Suddenly and sharply aware that she has tricked him, he tries to move, to reclaim her, but his body has become too feeble, and he can only twitch. "S-Sen," he protests, holding himself back with all his strength, straining against the inevitable. "Sen, I—n-no—wh-what are y—"

" _Silence_ ," she says, and gives one more rhythmic squeeze.

Involuntary pleasure rips through Kazama's body like a sword through flesh, and he lets out a strangled cry as if in pain, although nothing could be farther from the truth. Rendered momentarily blind, he knows only a feeling like falling, or like his heart beating backwards. Subtler this time, yet just as powerful.

"I said _silence_ ," says Sen, breathing hard from exertion as her demon form finally melts away, and uses his haori to wipe off her belly. Examining her handiwork with a smirk, she takes off his robe, turns it right side out again so that the new stain shows, and drops it unceremoniously by his head. Propping himself weakly up on his elbows, Kazama can only stare between Sen and his haori in the numb shock of accidental afterglow, still half-dazed and trying to catch his breath.

But there is no need for him to speak. "Because you cannot make up your mind, I have made up mine," whispers Sen, crawling forward to look him in the eye. "I suggest you spend your time considering what exactly it is you want from me. And before you say 'an heir'," she adds, resting a few fingers over his mouth to deter him from interrupting, "ask yourself how that gives you the right to police my time. Even if I talk to you about my insecurities, it won't help us unless you talk to me about yours."

But Kazama is barely listening, his fingers moving magnetically forward to bring Sen the same reluctant ecstasy, until—

" _Don't touch me_ ," she hisses, swatting his hands away. "Consider this a warning, Kazama." Evidently, she is still too angry to use his preferred honorific. "Attempt to solicit my attentions without my consent again, and I will make sure it's all for nothing, just like today. But if you've learned your lesson, I'll see you in my room tonight, to finish the job. Until then, _stay out of my sight_." Her speech delivered, Sen gets to her feet and starts gathering and donning her clothes.

As Kazama takes in her graceful form and unabashed actions, his mind goes oddly blank. He cannot even bring himself to be angry with her, as doubtless he should be. It is almost as though, by forcing him into submission, Sen united all the parts of himself that ordinarily oppose one another—his unease and uncertainty, inarticulate and arcane; his wrath and frustration, so easily provoked; his generosity and warmth, awakened only by divine smoke. Though she has not made his path clearer, she has revealed to him exactly how unclear it is. And, to his mind, that is paradoxically the same.

Only as Sen glares at him pointedly, plucking up the long-forgotten letter, does Kazama remember abruptly that he has been dismissed. Getting to his unstable feet with as much dignity as he can muster, he dresses himself without a word. After a brief hesitation, he bundles up his haori under his arm to hide his shame, taking his leave without a bow or a backward glance. If he is expected to be able to articulate his vague misgivings, whatever they may be, he has much to consider before the evening.


	5. nightfall

_If she could only hold onto this feeling_ …

Sen sighs, staring blankly up at the ceiling, and wonders how things ever could have become so unstable so quickly. Only a week ago, she dared to hope that she and Kazama could coexist and trust one another, but it seems that her unavailability made her husband far more restless than she anticipated. And yet for her, there was a kind of relief, an ease. She found herself breathing for what seemed like the first time since her wedding. That punishment was also a respite from further torture, and served to let her think.

And think she did. Sen thought that if she did not share a bed with Kazama for longer at a stretch, it might enable the other parts of their relationship to develop as well, like a blind man learning to use his other senses instead of relying on sight. However, she underestimated the extent to which fulfilling their reluctant duty was not an impediment to, but rather a _prerequisite_ of communication. Now that her eyes have been opened to the reality of their situation, she cannot close them and lose herself in futile hope anymore.

Many times, Sen has reflected on her similarities to Kazama, but it seems that he is unable or unwilling to make those connections. If she wants to make their situation more manageable, she must show him their common ground. Their circumstances cannot change without conscious intervention.

Although Sen is ashamed of her earlier actions, she knows deep down that there was no other way Kazama would have listened. The only language he speaks is that of power. Though it does not come naturally to Sen, he has taught her enough of its harsh and vindictive tones over the course of their marriage that she finally lost her composure completely… and with it, her moral high ground. Hopefully, she will not have to resort to such drastic measures in future, but much depends on this evening.

It might be easier if Sen had the slightest idea what to expect from her husband tonight. After her total victory in today's confrontation, she imagines that the pushback will be severe. Kazama has certainly had enough time to rally his spirits since then, and that means another argument will likely be forthcoming. But of course, Sen has taken the precaution of removing her clothes, having discovered by now that her bare skin is a surer shield from his ire than any armor.

Anxious more because she wishes to delay Kazama's arrival rather than hasten it, Sen hears his growl echoing in her ears once more, hissed so hotly that she could no longer tell lust from loathing: _he said he wanted her_. Doubtless it was only shallow need that made him admit it, and it is likely that his conscious mind had no part in forming those words. Still, she cannot help but think of how fiercely he fought her only a couple weeks ago, preferring to pay her insult rather than admit that his desire was not entirely entwined with his duty.

Perhaps things have already started changing between them after all…?

"Sen," says Kazama's voice just outside the door, and she starts, plucking up her comb in suddenly shaky fingers. She knows full well that after this morning, she has much less reason to be nervous than her husband has, but her doubts have since grown stronger than her conviction. If it comes down to it, Sen knows she will not be able to convince herself to seize control a second time today.

"Come in," she says, her back to the door as she readjusts her position, brushing out her already smooth hair. After her earlier cold assertiveness, it would be best to appear indifferent and otherwise occupied. There is no need for him to know the extent to which he has possessed her thoughts all day. Being left unfulfilled, even by her own choice, left much more of a mark on her temperament than she anticipated.

The door slides open, and there is a meaningful hesitation before it closes again, more sharply. "And you say _my_ messages are mixed," snaps Kazama, with surprising vehemence, and Sen glances over her shoulder to find him staring pointedly at the wall. "Am I mistaken in assuming that you summoned me here as much to talk as to fulfill our duty?"

Sen only raises her eyebrows, as cautious as she is curious. Whatever she may have expected from Kazama, it wasn't this. "I do not wish to talk, so much as I wish to be _heard_ ," she says, setting down her comb. "If you intend to continue ignoring or dismissing my thoughts, it may be better for us to stop communicating altogether than carry on as we are."

Kazama stiffens in apparent anger, but still does not look at her; Sen smiles at his senses of propriety and self-control, back from their absence this morning. "I've been… thinking," he says, struggling to spit out the words. "About what I want from you. Like you asked me to." It seems he does not know how to approach Sen, yet he is still willing to try.

If he is sincere about working out their problems, the least Sen can do is cooperate. Evaluating Kazama's expression carefully, she retrieves and dons her silken sleeping robe. "Thank you," she says, and he turns around to face her at last as she secures her garment.

Though the most prominent in Kazama's expression is surprise at Sen's swift sincerity, there is a profound confusion and wariness—greatly resembling fear—behind his eyes. His ability to maintain his cool and confident mask even under pressure is impressive, but beneath it all, he shares Sen's uncertainty. Taking comfort in the realization that they are on even ground, at least for now, she continues, "Have you come to any conclusions?"

"Only one," says Kazama, taking a deep breath, and sinks into seiza across from Sen. "Since long before today, I've felt as though I have lost you in some way. From the beginning, we agreed that the basis of our relationship was to produce an heir. However, after Shiranui's visit, you became more distant not only in body, but in spirit." He speaks just a little too quickly, as though having rehearsed his words. "I want to know whether your perception of our relationship has changed, and how."

Sen frowns. "When I tried to address my concerns after Shiranui shared his perspective, you did not seem particularly interested in listening to my thoughts," she says, trying not to sound too accusatory. "Over the past week, I have not had the patience to defend myself, so I decided it was better not to try." As Sen speaks, Kazama throws her a look of the utmost scorn, and she freezes instinctively. His veil of docility has slipped; these are his true feelings, and they are just as dangerous as ever.

"You seem to have a vastly different memory of that conversation than I," says Kazama coldly. "As I recall, I made my stance clear, but you seemed less definite on yours. Once I gave you some time to think alone, I spent the next few days attempting to determine where you stood, but you _ignored or dismissed_ me each time." He glares at her, his words pointed and sharp as knives. "Eventually, I stopped trying."

Meeting Kazama's burning eyes, Sen discovers absolute conviction within them. The shadows of lies are always easy for her to see, especially in his honest countenance, but his expression is completely devoid of deceit—and even any ulterior motives. This, then, is the truth as he sees it. Perhaps she was reading too much into his expressions, his tone of voice, allowing her dislike to color her interpretation…

Though Sen tries to remember more clearly, doubt clouds her thoughts and obscures her perception until she can no longer recall whether his offenses over the past week have been real or imagined. And there were those couple days when he had looked at her so tenderly; opium-addled or not, he _was_ still her husband.

"I… may have been hasty in my judgment," says Sen eventually, bowing her head as her thoughts race far ahead. "My apologies, Kazama-san. I didn't realize you intended to establish peace."

"You never do," retorts Kazama. "And now you have the nerve to tell me that talking things out is a solution, as though I have _not_ been trying to do so for days, whereas you have actively avoided engaging me." Contrary to his frigid tone, his eyes flash fire. "You insist that I am preoccupied with dominance, and justify your position in my bed by saying that you have no other form of control. But if everything must be on your terms or not at all, how can you think of yourself as powerless?"

Sen almost flinches, and upon reaching for a reply, discovers with some alarm that she does not have an answer at the ready. She can barely comprehend Kazama's meaning, so intense is his gaze, and so resolute his expression. Is this really what he thinks of her…?

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, a response does not seem to be required. "I have given up much for the sake of our arrangement, Princess of Yase," growls Kazama. "Do not presume to think you are the only one displeased with compromise."

Steeling herself, Sen meets his eyes with some difficulty. At least in _that_ she may defend herself. "I am not displeased with _compromise_ ," she corrects him quietly. "What we have now is not compromise, but mutual sacrifice. I do not seek to change either of us in essentials, but rather, to find some natural middle ground with which we can both be satisfied with ourselves and one another. It was not my intention to be hypocritical. I simply thought—"

"You jumped to conclusions," interrupts Kazama, and Sen halts mid-sentence. Evidently, an apology alone is not enough to satisfy him. "Once you've made up your mind, you have never once given me the chance to change it. Nor do you ever ask for an explanation; instead, you act on your irrational assumptions." As he speaks, a faint flush spreads across his face—angry, yet too soft to be truly fierce. "Many more things have been made clear to me since this morning than those you asked me to consider."

Sen wants more than anything to tell Kazama that her assumptions have been far from irrational, given his attitude, but he is clearly trying to put her on the defensive. Obliging him now and allowing another argument to kindle between them will hardly help. "I… lost my temper," says Sen reluctantly, swallowing her instinct to retaliate. She is still somewhat inexperienced with how to placate Kazama's anger, despite the amount of practice she has had by now. "As I recall, speech proved somewhat ineffective at the moment."

"If you're looking for an apology, I suggest you stop wasting our _quality time_ ," returns Kazama sharply. "I stand by what I said before. You had ignored me and my wishes long enough."

But something seems off about his assertion, thinks Sen, searching his countenance. This is no longer the natural and sure indignation of before, but contrived irritation. His emphasis on his certainty conceals those inarticulable insecurities, deep behind his eyes—not lies, and less easily picked out among the storm of frustration, but there. Even this is an intricate mask, realizes Sen, her annoyance subsiding slightly.

"And that dismissal is precisely what I am trying to correct, Kazama-san," she says, as patiently as she can. "If possible, I wish to establish some sort of understanding before we continue moving forward with our duty, to prevent further miscommunications in this vein. For both our sakes." She looks Kazama in the eye, willing him to understand that this is the only way. "If you have truly been seeking some sort of closure, then you can have no reason other than spite to refuse it now."

Kazama lets out a long breath. "I do not wish to talk, so much as I wish to be _heard_ ," he says, turning her own words against her once more. "If you are ready to practice what you preach, we can try. But first, I want you to answer my question. Has your perception of our relationship changed since Shiranui and Amagiri voiced their thoughts, or not?"

Sen hesitates. She cannot allow him to corner her again. It would be better for her to risk his wrath and lay out the ground rules before she tries to formulate a response. "Before I tell you, I would first like to clarify that we will not be putting each other on trial," she says carefully. "If neither of us pass judgment, simply talking and listening like our councils do, I have confidence that we can overcome our differences and find some sort of contentment."

Kazama glares at her. "Do you earnestly believe that?" Although his tone is impatient and skeptical, the question is not rhetorical. He wants to know how far Sen is willing to go for the sake of conciliation. And that means that her own stance must be unwavering, even if she does have her doubts.

Before they can find contentment, they must first collaborate to eliminate their animosity. Given that the two of them have given one another plenty of ammunition even within the first few weeks of their marriage, Sen has no doubt that it will be some time before the bad blood between them dries. And, as she told Kazama once before, she does have her limits, but it need not follow that her limits must prevent her from even _trying_.

Meeting his eyes evenly, Sen does not break that contact as she inclines her head. "Yes, I do."

For a brief moment, Kazama only stares her down as if assessing how serious she is, before he finally lets out a low noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Fine. Just start talking, Sen." She can hardly resist the urge to smile at his biting tone. Kazama should know better than to show his hand like that. Perhaps the key to getting him to agree to almost anything is to make him so impatient that he accepts her terms without question.

"If you insist, Kazama-san," says Sen. "Reluctant as I am to admit it, I believe that Shiranui and Amagiri both have a point. Our situation has many more variables than anticipated, so while our primary purpose is still to produce an heir, I _also_ believe that it is vitally important that we find some way to make peace. Which, happily, we are now trying to do. This is all I ask."

Kazama blinks, evidently at a loss for words. "Oh." Did he expect her to cut him off entirely, or to try and shift the point of their marriage in some other direction? Had he not listened to her earlier assertion that to change the basis of their relationship was impossible? Their memories of that conversation must be different indeed.

"However," continues Sen cautiously, when Kazama says nothing further, "this is not to say that talking, itself, is a solution to all our problems—more of a method to _find_ solutions. It is the content of our discussion that matters more than anything, and how well we are able to work out our differences. You see, I take issue with several aspects of your behavior, just as you have taken issue with mine."

As she speaks, Kazama's surprise sharpens, then fades along with his humorlessly laugh-like sigh. "Ah, so the truth comes out," he remarks sardonically, as though Sen has ever lied to him. "I thought there must be more to it. And what are these issues, pray tell?"

"As your wife, all I ask of you is that you treat me as an equal, which—might I remind you— _I am_. This means that I expect you to value my perspective, trust my judgment, and respect my wishes as if they were your own." Sen pauses, choosing her words deliberately. If she insinuates that Kazama's failure to do so is his fault, even if it is the truth, he will probably refuse to engage her at all. "Do you find this unreasonable?"

Kazama narrows his eyes, and Sen braces herself for his riposte just in time. "If you mean to call me incompetent, then do it," he snaps. "I do not appreciate guessing games. I was raised to be honest, or be silent, and I expect the same of everyone else." Sen opens her mouth to tell him that she is trying to avoid inadvertently insulting him, but realizes as she does so that he has just informed her—intentionally or otherwise—of another of his own needs.

"Very well," says Sen. "But _I_ was raised to prioritize tactfulness above all else, and diplomacy can be a long and intricate dance. If I must be direct, then you must be patient." As Kazama gives a short and grudging nod, Sen attempts a small smile. "I do not mean to say that you are incompetent, Kazama-san. I only wish to ask why you find my few requests so difficult to fulfill."

Kazama eyes her somewhat disbelievingly, then sighs in resignation. "I may have been thinking all day, but the majority of my attention fixed itself on the question you have already answered. As for the remainder of my 'insecurities', as you put them, I still don't know what they are, so I can hardly be expected to communicate them to _you_."

There is a familiar edge to Kazama's voice which might ordinarily be threatening, but now, it seems more uptight than anything else. Perhaps because of her actions this morning, Sen has managed to rattle him deeply enough that he feels personally attacked. If she wants to gain any further traction, she must prove her resolution and keep up the pressure for as long as she can.

"Is that supposed to discourage me?" asks Sen, tilting her head. "If you do not know what your wishes are or why, that's all the more reason to start finding out. After all, you know I cannot be expected to give you what you want until we both know what that is."

"But how can I articulate my misgivings to you without even knowing where to begin with myself?" asks Kazama, scowling at the ground. Sen suspects he knows she is right, but is reluctant to concede her point.

"Just start talking, Kazama-san," says Sen, taking the opportunity to exact her revenge by turning his words against him as well. "At this point, any words are better than none at all, even nonsense. Remember, I will not pass judgment." She gives what she hopes is an encouraging smile, although she suspects it looks lopsided. "That is not our purpose here."

"How can you tell me to speak before I know what I intend to say?" retorts Kazama, retaliating again. If he is this fixated on details as small as this, perhaps he is afraid of engaging the larger issues at hand. But then again, perhaps the part is indicative of the whole.

Evidently, requests and suggestions are not enough; Sen will need to push Kazama harder still if she wants answers. As she looks her husband up and down, taking in his resolute stubbornness, a new idea forms in her mind. Perhaps she should take a leaf out of his book and test him.

"I shouldn't have to walk a grown man through this," says Sen, shaking her head. "You are a clan leader, Kazama-san, and you should _know_ how this works. I have already had to teach Hiroaki-kun how to speak his mind, and now you."

Sure enough, Kazama jerks his head up at the mention of Hiroaki. "What _is_ your relationship to that boy?" he demands. "I've scarcely heard his name before today, but now it seems he has been at your side all along."

"In a sense, he has," says Sen, barely suppressing a smile at her victory. "I've known him all my life. But I have already told you that he is my servant; nothing more." Sen permits Kazama to search her eyes, meeting them with all the steadiness of the truth she tells. "I only mentioned him because I remember how you reacted to his presence, and thought that could help us now."

"How can antagonizing me like this possibly be _helpful_?"

Sen sighs. "Are you jealous, Kazama-san?"

He stares at her a moment, caught off-guard. After a brief and awkward pause, Kazama finally frowns, as if unsure how to answer her. "Define 'jealous'," he returns after a pause, with the faintly guilty air of a cornered man trying to buy himself some time.

"Possessive," says Sen promptly. "Aside from yourself, you become irrationally angry at anyone taking up my time and energy, and subsequently suspicious of their motives… and mine. Because of this, you trust no one, and become reluctant to believe anything other than the evidence of your own senses." She states it as objectively as possible. There is no way Kazama can deny it, and they both know it.

There is a long silence, during which Sen observes him struggling to find some loophole, but eventually he gives a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. "By those standards, I suppose I am," growls Kazama, clearly on the defensive. "But as your husband, that is my natural right."

Sen shakes her head. "You know full well that our contract forbids me from exercising my right to take multiple partners, and if we pretend for a moment you trust me to honor that agreement, you have no reason to be jealous." Her inability to take other consorts had been one of very few conditions of their match, so obscure she had a habit of forgetting the restriction was even there to begin with. No Princess of Yase had taken more than one partner in what might have been centuries, so she had never even considered doing such a thing herself.

"So you mean to say… that my behavior is irrational," says Kazama disbelievingly. "Uncalled for." There is a slight hesitation in his voice, as though he wants to say more, but—possibly out of lingering unease from having been forced into silence this morning—he says nothing further. Nonetheless, Sen can hear his internal addition: _it isn't fair_. Since she has denied Kazama the satisfaction of control during their nights together, he seeks other kinds of power over her now.

Sen nods once, as gently as possible. With any luck, she will be able to reassure him that such measures are unnecessary. "Exactly. Since I am not being unfaithful, nor do I have any intention of being so, you have nothing to fear."

"I _fear_ nothing," returns Kazama, bristling.

"Jealousy is a form of fear, Kazama-san," says Sen, struggling not to roll her eyes.

"You failed to mention that when defining it."

Sen heaves an exasperated sigh at his abrupt tone. Why must he _always_ debate the semantics instead of grasping her overall point? "The source of jealousy is the fear of loss. And even if you are not afraid, strong dislike at the thought is close enough." Sen isn't about to let a little denial prevent them from making any progress at all. "Can you tell me why _exactly_ you dislike my associating with Hiroaki-kun? It may help me learn to navigate your boundaries."

Kazama bows his head, taking a deep breath, but does not quite meet Sen's eyes as he looks up again. "The boy is… beneath you. You are the Princess of Yase, as well as my wife. A demon of your stature should not associate so closely with mere servants that she uses their first name, much less such a familiar suffix."

"And do you believe you would be fundamentally happier with our arrangement if I stopped?"

Kazama's eyes cloud over briefly in something more than confusion, but he forces the usual veil over them before long. "If you started keeping an appropriate distance from your attendants, I would be pleased that you finally recognized your role as ruler," he says, his voice flinty yet too faint and faraway to be truly cross, "but I have become accustomed to your behavior by now, and something about the idea of having to readjust my expectations is… unsettling. As a clan leader, if you changed your mind about your own customs so easily, I don't think I would have married you."

"Fortunately, I do _not_ change my mind so easily," says Sen, smiling. "But similarly, I admit I'd be just as astonished if you suddenly began treating me with respect and stopped disputing my every decision. But that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing in the long run. I believe my happiness would soon outweigh my initial suspicion."

"But if I change for you, then you must change for me," says Kazama, frowning. "That is what compromise means."

"In a sense, I suppose so," says Sen. "But therein lies the problem. I am happy to consider your needs, but I will not stop caring about my servants and treating them with kindness simply because you believe it improper. This is my village, and my traditions take precedence over yours. Not to mention, you yourself just told me that part of what makes me a desirable partner is my adherence to my clan's traditions."

"That is _not_ what I said," mutters Kazama, glaring at the nearest wall even as he makes a clear but futile effort to mask his annoyance with boredom. "In any case, why even mention the servant boy if you'd already chosen your answer—and especially if you already knew mine? This song and dance is a waste of time."

"Because I was not truly asking about Hiroaki-kun," says Sen, as gently as she can, and Kazama glances at her out the corner of his eye. "Your jealousy is only a symptom, not the root cause. Even in the earlier part of the week, you were quite insistent about seeking out my company."

As she speaks, Kazama lowers his gaze, but he seems to have forgotten to veil his thoughts, and Sen sees every one of his confused emotions as they flash across his face. "When I saw you sitting so close to the servant boy," he says eventually, "it reminded me that I had not been that close to you in a week, so it struck me as unseemly. It _still_ does. You don't even let your husband that close to you, yet a common servant is permitted to sit at your elbow."

Sen pauses, then decides to push him a little farther. "As I recall, I thoroughly explained my reasoning at the time," she says, so soft she sounds almost shy, so as to have a hope of receiving an answer. "What reason have _you_ to sit so close to me?"

"There is none," says Kazama stiffly. "I am neither asking for permission nor announcing my intention. It was only an observation, nothing more."

"A curious observation indeed, if you do not wish to take Hiroaki-kun's place in some way. But I digress." Sen settles more firmly into place, solidifying her stance in more senses than the one. "What transpired during the days in between, when you did not approach me at all?" Though curiosity burns within her, she does not mention his opium use directly, unsure as to how sensitive a subject it is.

Evidently, she made the right decision, as Kazama tenses visibly in apparent shame. As he pauses to think, Sen notes how serious his expression has become, and how rigid his profile despite his best efforts to relax: she has certainly struck a nerve. "I… needed to quiet my thoughts," he says, his tone warning, but falls silent.

Sen waits a moment for him to explain, but he says nothing. "What thoughts did you need to quiet?" she ventures, after a suitably long pause.

To her surprise, Kazama's reply is immediate and abrupt. "Most prominently, those I have already confided in you," he says tartly, recovering himself. (Sen supposes it was too much to hope that his disquiet override his terseness for much longer.) "Regarding Shiranui and Amagiri's influence on your thoughts."

"And what of your _less_ prominent musings?"

A series of expressions flashes across Kazama's face, too quickly for Sen to pick out individual emotions, but among them are irritation and confusion. "There were also those _you_ have pointed out. About the distance between us, and I suppose… a wish to close it in some way. Not that you obliged me," he adds spitefully, rushing on before Sen can interject. "Now that I have no more to say about myself, I am very curious as to what you intend to do to assuage my doubts."

"Since I have already offered the opinion you originally sought, the only thing I _can_ do is continue these discussions until each of us knows once and for all what the other wants," says Sen. "And, in doing so, we will have the time to address our respective opinions, which was another of your concerns. If you are willing to help me, I am sure we will be able to arrive at some sort of understanding before long."

"You mean to continue this folly even after tonight?" asks Kazama, frowning.

"Of course," returns Sen, perplexed at his surprise. "Even though we have already clarified a few points tonight, it is impossible to reconstruct our perceptions of one another and of our relationship in a single night. Besides, I believe it would be best if we exchanged one request at a time each meeting, to avoid overwhelming each other and forcing each other to change too quickly."

"Then… we're done here?"

"Soon, yes," answers Sen, taken aback despite herself at his impatience. "But before we finish what we started this morning, I'd prefer it if we explain in no uncertain terms what we would like to see from one another in the coming days."

"Then speak," growls Kazama, his mood evidently hostile. "You've made your displeasure with me _more_ than clear, so what would you have me do about it?"

Sen bows her head, closing her eyes to calm herself. He is only trying to provoke her; she cannot rise to his bait. "If you intend to offer an adverse opinion on something I have said or done, please request permission for a private audience first. Navigating sensitive conversations is made somewhat more difficult if I am preoccupied with something else. Having a village to govern in addition to traversing the wilderness of human politics means that I often have several important matters on my mind at the same time, and believe it or not, your input is not always among them."

"Noted," says Kazama dryly. "Although I'd prefer it if my input _was_ more often among them. That is all I ask of you for now."

After a small hesitation, Sen inclines her head in grudging agreement. What Kazama asks is more than fair, and much more generous than she had anticipated, but still, she cannot help but be resentful. She does not like spending more time dwelling on his existence in her life than she has to.

"I suppose that's it, then," says Kazama. " _If_ you're so busy thinking about things that are not your husband, when exactly do you plan on holding the rest of these meetings?"

"Perhaps every other night," says Sen. "And if we are to share our doubts with one another, I'd prefer it to be within these walls and nowhere else." After all, the _appearance_ of stability must stay, regardless of their personal feelings. That much has always been a certainty, although it feels even more vital now that Shiranui has brought his news. "Thus, if I mean to share your bed, I will come to _you_. All other nights, you may come to me, and we will talk."

Kazama freezes. " _What_?"

Sen takes a moment to gauge his countenance. He is not yet angry, only shocked. She still has a chance to dissuade him from arguing. "Our _primary_ purpose may be to produce an heir, but I believe that striving to accomplish that goal and taking the opportunity to transition into a more well-rounded relationship are not mutually exclusive. Since our marriage is clearly not functioning as intended on a purely physical basis, we must learn to interact in more cerebral ways as well. And preferably more often."

"So you mean to change the foundation of our relationship after all," says Kazama, almost interrupting, and his eyes flash fire so hot Sen almost has to look away. "Did you not agree to continue as we are, and honor our original objective?"

" _Now_ whose memory of that conversation is different?" retorts Sen, stung. "I did not give you an answer a week ago, so I have done so tonight. At no point have I said that I intend to keep things the way they are, particularly since trying to do so has only brought us both misery thus far."

"Last night taught me the meaning of _misery_ ," mutters Kazama, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. He knows he is losing the argument, realizes Sen, and this petty complaint is his way of reluctantly conceding. (Although he himself may not yet be aware of this.) "Would you wish me to go through such agony so often?"

Sen scowls, all traces of benevolent relief vanishing in an instant. Kazama's wry tone suggests that he is exaggerating, but for him to imply that she is at fault for failing to slake his insatiable libido, even in jest… "I am not obligated to indulge you every single night, Kazama-san," she snaps. "If you cannot wait that long for my company, I give you leave to satisfy yourself."

Kazama stares at her, the beginnings of an all-too-familiar snarl tugging at his lip, but nonetheless he flushes. It _has_ crossed his mind, then, even if he has not given in to that temptation. "You disgust me."

Smiling faintly as an idea comes to her, Sen fidgets with the hem of her robe, tugging at her neckline as if to part it. Sure enough, Kazama's eyes flick to her fingers expectantly, almost impatiently. Even after this morning, he is still ready for more, although she can see in his countenance that he himself is bewildered by the strength of that instinct.

"You could have fooled me," says Sen, too amused to be angry, and tightens her robe again. "But really, Kazama-san, all I ask is that we try things my way for two weeks." Crawling slowly forward, she allows a pleading note into her voice. Even the illusion of power may work in her favor. "That should be long enough for us to tell whether we need to readjust our strategy again."

Kazama shifts in place as she approaches, but sits his ground, looking at her a moment longer before jerking his head away with a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "And if your way fails, you'll listen to _me_ for once," he growls, half a question, although he does not look at her.

Sen nods, somewhat apprehensively. "I am reluctant to _promise_ you anything, but yes," she says, lifting her hand to caress his face in a gesture of peace. "At the very least, I will hear out whatever alternative suggestions you might have to offer. Only take care that you think of some. Reverting to our current situation, or rather past, is not an option."

Letting out a short breath of resignation, Kazama pushes himself up from seiza to kneel before Sen, a few inches taller than her even now, and inclines his head to gaze down at her. His expression is as imperious as ever, but there is an unusual, distinctly sheepish tinge to it that Sen finds almost endearing. "Then let's get this over with."

"'Get this over with'?" echoes Sen, swallowing automatically as Kazama casually shrugs off the top half of his yukata—perhaps to distract her from scrutinizing his expression too closely. (It works.) "You _enjoy_ it."

" _Some_ aspects of it, yes," says Kazama, grasping her shoulders and leaning in to kiss her neck like a falcon for the kill. He has become altogether too adept at touching Sen, as her conscious thoughts start dwindling already. "And I could say the same for you, despite all you put me through this morning."

"In a sense, I suppose you c-could," gasps Sen, feeling Kazama smirk into her skin. She hates that smirk, even if she can't see it, but it sends a rush of intoxication through her body all the same—subconscious messages as mixed as their every conscious action. "But _only_ some aspects of it."

"Oh?" responds Kazama, his voice a teasing rumble in her ear. Not a falcon, then; the purr of some great cat. "So you admit that you do not consider me unattractive." Yet, though Sen marvels at his seemingly sudden courage and confidence, there is something slightly subdued about his seduction this time. Kazama is waiting for her reactions, listening more closely, sensing her mood. Purposely or not, he is making more of an effort to engageher.

"H-have I ever said you are?" returns Sen, her breath halting as Kazama brushes his hands along her body. He does not move her clothing aside, and in fact seems particularly careful not to displace anything. Is this his way of honoring the concept of her consent, or does he have some ulterior motive…?

"In words, no," says Kazama, lips stirring against her skin so that his words slur, and—making every effort to avoid letting his hands come in contact with her bare skin—massages her inner thigh through the thin material of her robe. "But judging by your _actions_ , I thought I must be the most loathsome creature on this earth." Spoken so sensually, his words take a moment to sink in. He is trying a new tactic, enticing her to compliment him through contradiction.

"This isn't about you, Kazama-san," murmurs Sen instead, flushing. "A-and in any case, there is no shame in physical attraction." Her breath catches as Kazama presses another string of kisses to her neck, more forcefully this time, his mouth and hand working together to tease her. He is looking for validation, and he does not intend to stop until he gets it. "You know exactly what you do to me." Though Sen enunciates more clearly in an attempt to maintain her composure and authority, Kazama only laughs in what might be affirmation, a low chuckle that sets her shivering.

As his other hand slips from her shoulder to her breast, perhaps accidentally, his kisses become more insistent, his movements more agitated, in the telltale sign of his own arousal. Yet he still restrains himself… and, like their first night, Sen grows almost frustrated with his obedient detachment despite herself. She refuses to beg for more, although she cannot help but fidget uncomfortably as she begins to burn below. After this morning, Kazama longs to inflict the same sweet agony on her: she can almost taste that vengeful desire, thick and sultry, on unfulfilled lips.

When Sen can stand Kazama's torment no longer, she grasps his wrist with tremulous touch, moving his fingers forcefully up to brush against damp silk. Although her decision to leave herself unfinished was firm at the time, it was not without its later consequences. Her body yearns for his touch as though no time has passed between this morning and tonight. The satisfaction of seeing Kazama disarmed and disgraced no longer seems enough for her.

His lips form a faint smile on Sen's skin an instant before he parts them to sink his teeth softly into her, half a playful bite. But then he pulls back again, just barely, and she shudders as his hot breath caresses her skin. "After this morning, I assumed this should be on your terms, just like everything else," whispers Kazama, his words gentle but venomous. " _Now_ who doesn't know what she wants?"

He still has something to prove—something their conversation left unresolved. But Sen knows exactly how to resolve it: by telling the truth. In the beginning, she told Kazama that she only needed him for his status, and that had been true at the time. But now, it would be a lie. Of all the things her husband can offer, she has never prioritized these physical pleasures so earnestly before. It is time she told him so, if only to see his reaction.

"I _do_ know what I want," says Sen, raising her hand to Kazama's chest and tracing the contours of his muscles. Blinding lust numbs her clumsy tongue, and she gives voice to her innermost formless thoughts in a single sibilant sigh. "I want you… inside me." She has never spoken so plainly before, and blushes hotly to her ears at her own vulgar statement. Although she says it to prove him wrong, her impropriety is also apologetic, a concession to his earlier demand. _Be honest, or be silent_.

Kazama freezes so that Sen can practically hear his heart pounding, both his hands going slack. Seizing the opportunity to take control, she moves in closer, wading forward as if through some tempestuous waters, and kisses Kazama full on the mouth—though she pulls away within the instant. "Does that really _disgust_ you?" she murmurs, her lips still brushing his, their breath mingling.

"Only as much as I disgust you, Sen," breathes Kazama, his inescapable ardor renewed, and his fingers find her once more, their movements quick and irregular in his scattered focus. Their lips meet again, more urgently, as they seek some sort of wordless agreement. More than once, they break away unconsciously, both their breaths coming swift and shallow, only for one of them or the other to close the infinitesimal distance once more. All the while, Kazama weakens, more and more completely; Sen can feel him trembling with the effort of stillness.

Finally, she cannot suppress a whimper in the back of her throat any longer. As she pulls back again, Kazama leans forward to chase her lips for a moment before remembering what she wants. As Sen pulls her robe apart altogether and casts it aside, he removes his fundoshi, leaving his yukata hanging loosely around his body. As Sen advances again, he lies back without a struggle this time, gazing into her face with dazed eyes. Now that Sen has forced Kazama's sense of dominance into submission, it seems that it has not dared emerged again. In a way, he looks… innocent.

In that moment, Sen falters, sudden fear flashing through her mind as she sees herself.

Earlier in the day, her aggression was all to pointed purpose, a self-defensive power play, so the implications of her force did not bother her. But now, having spent several hours unfulfilled, she has grown hungry for Kazama's flesh, so like the thirst for demon blood forced upon her more than a year ago. And, like all her prey, he is not fighting back. There is no triumph in a tacit victory, only a profound and restless unease—only the madness of half-consent, sick masochistic smiles that used to be human—only ghoulish light glinting on a pair of spectacles, disembodied in the darkness, watching her—

"Is something the matter?" asks Kazama, propping himself up on his elbows, and Sen starts, stirred sluggishly out of suddenly racing thoughts. "If you intend to just leave me like this, I really _will_ take you by force this time." His tone is sharp and cold as he speaks, yet there is a comfortingly concerned sort of softness to the steel in his eyes. Though she opposes the soul behind them, at least there _is_ a soul behind them. Kazama is in his right mind, unlike the others; he may not be submitting to her of his own volition, but those are the terms of the agreement they established. Consciously.

Swallowing the metallic tang of unwelcome memories, Sen crawls forward, arching over Kazama to take her place over him. Yet still she hesitates in both word and deed, seized by the memory of overthrowing him so violently earlier in the day. Her body craves his touch as badly as ever, but it is precisely the intensity of that lust that frightens her. She cannot move to close the distance between them until she knows that she is not taking advantage of him a second time.

Kazama lets out a strangled sigh of exasperation. "Here I lie, beneath you just like you insist, yet still you seem reluctant to make your move," he growls, staring up at her resentfully. "It seems you've forgotten that _you_ were the one who told me you wanted _me_." He claps her hip with the palm of his hand, almost hard enough to be considered a slap. Sen jumps as her skin prickles, sending a shudder through her body. "You may have changed your mind, but _I_ have not. Now, sit down and start working—or is your way of atoning for this morning to deprive me of satisfaction altogether?"

At his acerbic sarcasm, Sen cannot help but smile faintly, desire drawing her back into her body and strengthening beyond her doubts. His confirmation was all she needed to hear, although doubtless he intended it as an admonition. "I'm sorry, Kazama-san," she murmurs. "And… thank you."

Kazama frowns in confusion and opens his mouth, but Sen digs her fingernails into his chest to stabilize herself as she settles down around him, and whatever he might have said is drowned out by a hissing inhalation as she takes him in. The fit is so tight and slick it is almost comfortable, and Sen lets out a little sigh of contentment, her body relaxing in the face of familiarity. "S-see," gasps Kazama finally, as she starts moving, "that's better. Always… better."

Sen is inclined to agree despite herself. Though their positioning is the same as ever, this odd sense of serenity is so tangibly different from her feelings from mere moments ago that she feels like another woman. No; a _real_ woman, not the monster she used to be. This is what they want, what _she_ wants. She is not devouring Kazama, but giving and taking in her turn, and she need not prevent herself from deriving pleasure from their duty out of either spite or fear.

And he seems gentler this time, more docile, almost self-conscious, each of his hands taking turns to support and satisfy. They rarely speak during their nightly ritual, but there is almost always tension, stretched taut and ready to snap—something left unsaid, between the breaths and vocalizations cut off out of shame. Now, there is nothing to say in the first place, no need to break the peaceable half-silence with challenges or insults. This is the kind of resolution Sen has been seeking since last week: loveless but cooperative trust.

It has been long enough for Sen that she, too, feels the end coming on within a few minutes, although she doubts Kazama has learned her signs the way she can sense his. While she is still in the mood to be honest, she may as well tell him outright. "Kazama-san," she pants, sliding to a halt, and his eyes flutter open to meet and lock with hers. "Are you… close?"

Kazama does not answer right away, his lips moving faintly as if he is trying to remember how to speak, but he quirks an eyebrow all the same in his usual gesture of dry surprise. "I take this to mean you _are_ ," he says finally, his eyes hardening. "But your condition is no concern of mine. Keep moving."

"But if I finish before you…" begins Sen, nonplussed. Kazama's completion is (unfortunately) of paramount importance to their duty, and if her body can no longer handle him, they will miss their chance for the second time today.

"Then we will be even," interrupts Kazama, scowling, although he does not quite meet her eyes. Sen stares at him incredulously. Did he plan this from the beginning, or is this simply a charitable spur-of-the-moment decision? "Either way, you should be pleased," he continues, looking away, although his hand is restless against her in front, encouraging her to chase the pressure. "Be honored by my surrender, and _keep moving_."

Sen's body obeys before her mind can consent, jolting her back into motion. Faster, and harder, and with the friction of Kazama's hand in the right place at the right time. The heat of the homestretch envelops her like fire, searing her from head to toe, and a bead of sweat trickles down her back as she realizes she is farther away than she thought. Still she perseveres, and as she slows down in the last few moments, as much out of exhaustion as the desire to savor the fall, Kazama takes his cue… _there_.

Easing herself over the edge with Kazama's dextrous assistance, Sen lets the sensations wash over her—powerful as ever, yet subtler this time, every successive pulsation as pleasurable as the initial rush. Riding out her climax with one more rolling motion, Sen hears herself sigh the scattered syllables that make up Kazama's name, as though from a great distance. And as she does so, her husband's hands twitch, gripping her tightly by the hips to pull her farther down.

Gasping out of lingering sensitivity, Sen convulses and falls forward, feeling a whine well up in the back of her throat in perfect harmony with Kazama's faint and unintelligible moan. She closes her eyes as pinpricks of pain press into her pelvis, ten red crescent marks that will disappear almost instantly. The sensation keeps her grounded, far away from her deeper, darker thoughts. She is here atop Kazama, her husband, with whom she is still one.

As his pressure relents, Sen opens her eyes again, the world blurry around her, but his eyes—still red and human and filled with more emotions than she can count—come into focus before long, staring sightlessly into her own. But even as their gazes meet, Kazama looks aside again. Flushed as he already is, he seems to blush redder still, and Sen finds that she can read his expression more easily from this angle. He seems distinctly mortified, perhaps that she could still finish him after her actions this morning. Or perhaps he simply realizes that his thoughts are more visible in the light of afterglow.

The strangest impulse crosses Sen's mind to lean down and kiss Kazama again, but she smothers it. Tomorrow, he will probably give her all sorts of reasons to regret it. "It seems both of us have _won_ tonight after all, Kazama-san," she says instead, sliding off gradually to let him up. Kneeling off to the side, she looks away out of respect as Kazama readjusts his clothing. More slowly than usual, she thinks, although she can't imagine why he would want to linger after a day like theirs. "Our bed need not be a battlefield."

She speaks without thinking, and half expects Kazama to mention this morning. But instead, to her astonishment, he tosses her a wry smile. "But only because everything else in our lives _is_ ," he says, getting to his feet in as dignified a manner as he can manage with his body still so weak. "I'll see you tomorrow for our _discussion_ , I suppose." He sighs, then makes his way toward the door, lowering his voice and continuing to himself. "Twice today should at least tide me over until the day after…"

"See that it does," says Sen, and Kazama starts as she responds to his private thought, then inclines his head in somewhat embarrassed agreement. But the discussion does not feel over, even as he rests his hand on the door in preparation to slide it open and depart. "Thank you, Kazama-san," she adds quietly, and he pauses to glance back at her. "For agreeing to give this a try."

Kazama lets out a short exhalation that might be a laugh. "It could always be worse," he says, opening the door, and steps outside. "You could have put me off another week."


	6. kindling

The change is not instantaneous.

It seems that Kazama's myriad facets are all at war with one another by the time he wakes up the next morning. His pride is outraged by his surrender, his sense of reason uneasy and indecisive. Yet, underneath it all, imaginary smoke nudges him toward calm acceptance. Half his soul cries for action, for justice, while the other urges him to watch and wait to see how Sen's plan works out. Furthermore, yesterday has taught him that direct confrontation offers even worse results than more subtle attempts at persuasion.

As a result, by the time he next sees his wife, he finds himself unable to do or say anything at all.

This turmoil does not escape Sen's notice. Kazama catches her looking at him curiously now and again, just like she did during his intoxicated days, but she still does not make any effort to close the distance and speak to him. More alarmingly still, Kazama finds himself continually unable to break the silence; too many inner voices smother his own as he realizes that it is impossible to decide what he should say to her or how.

Not that Kazama particularly _wants_ to occupy his time trying to talk to her when they have already agreed to do so tonight, but something about the quiet between them feels disquieting. Still, he can do nothing, not even to request to sit in on Sen's few audiences with her people, except to make sure he arrives at her room at the appointed time.

"I notice that you did not speak to me at all today," says Sen, almost as soon as Kazama closes the door briskly behind him and moves to sit before her. "I was under the impression that you wanted some sort of say in my daily decisions. Have you changed your mind?"

"N-no," says Kazama, clearing his throat as his voice comes out hoarse from disuse. "But even if you say I can approach you to request an audience, so to speak, I am… uncertain… as to how I should do so. Each time I have been the one to take the initiative in our interactions, you react in one of several different ways, none of them favorable. I…" Kazama pauses to gather his thoughts. "I understand what you're asking me to do, but not how to do it."

Sen tilts her head. "Pardon?"

Kazama clears his throat again, as though that will help his words come more smoothly. "If you want something from me, I need you to be as specific as possible, because…" He hesitates. "I have begun to realize, over the course of our marriage, that even our views on the definition of respect seem to differ. So, to avoid any further misunderstandings, I need to know _exactly_ what you expect of me. And why."

Sen blinks a few times. "I see. Then I will try to make my wishes clearer whenever possible, although I shall have to think about the details at more length. But in the meantime," she adds, tilting her head slightly, "do you have any more specific requests? Your problem seems to require more immediate attention than a shift in my attitude."

Sen's words strike an unexpected chord within Kazama. In fact, her attitude is exactly what is keeping him from speaking, or so he thinks. "Perhaps if you were to talk to me first," he says, but cannot meet Sen's searching eyes. "Even if only to greet me, or in parting. I need you to speak to me in the times between our nights and our discussions."

Sen scratches her head. "I thought you sought to work matters out between us in words instead of actions. Now you want to talk… _conversationally_?"

"Of course not," retorts Kazama. "Exchanging pleasantries is meaningless. I'd simply like to have my presence acknowledged now and again, if only so I can tell when you are in a receptive enough frame of mind for calm conversation." Pointedly, he looks up at her sideways. "For instance, instead of looking at me out the corner of your eye, you could approach and tell me what you're thinking."

Rather than explain, Sen only smiles, and Kazama narrows his eyes at her infuriatingly serene expression. "See, Kazama-san, your willingness to confide in me is already an improvement. You told me what you wanted, so now I can do my best to make sure you have it." She meets his eyes. "If you never ask for the things you need, I can never give them to you."

"I don't need to hear your preaching," snaps Kazama, but takes her hint: he must be direct if he is to receive his answers. He supposes, grudgingly, that it is only fair. "Why were you looking at me like that today?"

Sen's smile widens slightly, but there is a peculiar edge to it, somewhere between sheepish and contemplative. "I can see that you have changed already, even since yesterday. I was trying to discern the exact ways. You kept your distance from me when you were… not yourself, too, and I wanted to know whether you were running from me again. Or perhaps from _us_."

Kazama shakes his head. "Never," he says, with all the strength of his resolution. "I have never, nor _will_ I ever, run from you or from our relationship. I told you already that my retreat into myself was intended to quiet my thoughts, and I told the truth."

"I see," says Sen slowly, although something in her voice tells Kazama she cannot see at all. "Well then, I will be sure to approach you first for a time, although I do hope you learn how to read my body language eventually." Her gaze is clear and cool, but the memory of those amber eyes from last night—clouding over with bewilderment and fright—flashes through his mind.

"Reading your body language might be easier if it didn't _change_ so often," growls Kazama, stung. "When I ask you to be honest or be silent, I mean not only to speak the truth, but to act in sincerity. You have a tendency to lead me on and manipulate me."

Sen peers at him more closely, as if in innocent confusion, though she at least has the grace to look troubled. "Even since last we spoke?"

Kazama eyes Sen, gauging her mood carefully. She really doesn't understand, then. "Last night. Why did you need my encouragement to continue, after all you told me?" After the dizzying forwardness Sen demonstrated not a few minutes before, any hesitation was distinctly out of place. His name on her lips may have momentarily driven it from his conscious thoughts, but the memory of her distant expression has lingered in the back of his mind ever since.

A shadow flickers across Sen's face, and though it vanishes quickly, Kazama knows he did not imagine its presence. She lets out a long breath, perhaps gathering her thoughts. A dull veil slides down over her eyes to mask her emotions, but he can sense the unrest swirling just beneath. "Do you recall… the night I drank your blood?"

Kazama stares at her a moment, caught off-guard, then bows his head. He might have known that such blank terror, even fleeting, had something to do with _that_. "That is not the kind of experience I find easy to forget, Sen."

"I was a monster," mumbles Sen, determinedly avoiding Kazama's gaze. "Starved and ravenous, ready to devour you entirely for the sake of my own selfish appetite. My actions last night only reminded me of that feeling." She swallows, focusing intently on the floor before her, and he can practically see the shadows swirling restlessly around her. "That's all."

"Yet, earlier in the day, you didn't so much as hesitate before stripping me of my dignity." And more than that.

Sen jerks her head up. "That was self-defense," she retorts, bristling. "You would have done the same to me had I not taken charge. But the second time… that wasn't to prove a point, or even because of our duty. It was because something inside me felt empty, and the last time I felt that way, I—I _killed_." Sen hangs her head, her voice trembling. "E-even if I can barely remember, I know that I am responsible for the death of Chizuru-chan's father."

"That wasn't your doing, Sen," points out Kazama, staring at her in the vain hopes of encouraging her to look up again. "The sin rests on the shoulders of the pathetic imitation that ordered you to do it. And in any case, you rid the world of a traitor to our kind. Any demon blood you spilled had long since been tainted with madness. Even had you acted of your own free will, killing Kodo would have been beyond justified."

Sen looks up at Kazama again, anguish filling her eyes like tears. "Is that madness why his blood did not heal me, but yours did?" she demands. "Is K-Ko— _his_ betrayal something objective and tangible, or do you believe you have the right to pass judgment on our fellow demons?"

"Judging by the information Amagiri uncovered during our search for the fakes, Kodo turned his back on everything it means to be an honorable demon long ago," says Kazama, narrowing his eyes. "He intended to aid that fake in creating a nation of imitations, on the pretense of resurrecting the Yukimura clan in corrupted human bodies. Don't tell me you think he was right."

"Of _course_ I don't think he was right!" retorts Sen passionately, even before Kazama finishes, and he closes his mouth. Good; she feels as strongly about this as a demon of her stature ought to. "Never in a thousand years! I simply think that a demon does not stop being a demon simply because of his actions."

"Kodo was barely a demon to begin with, as I recall," points out Kazama. "Perhaps that is the reason my blood healed you while his did not. Mine is pure."

"And I suppose that in your eyes, that selfsame purity of blood means your body and mind are _incorruptible_ ," mutters Sen, hugging her arms to herself. "I have only a single human ancestor, yet I still succumbed to that man's control. Let that stand as a testament to the strength of his unnatural abilities. My weakness in itself is a sin, let alone all I did under his command."

Kazama heaves an exasperated sigh. "If you insist on bearing such a burden alone, I wonder that you did not allow Kimigiku to end your life and preserve what remained of your honor."

Sen bows her head, but her eyes do not leave his face. "And I wonder that you did not do so immediately yourself. Chizuru-chan helped save my life, but only because you did not take it the first chance you had. Why did you, the pureblooded leader of your clan, allow a disgraced demon like me to li—?"

"How could I have killed you?" interrupts Kazama, glowering. "Only humans murder their own kind before exhausting all other possibilities. You had promised to bear my child, and I intended to see that you kept your word." He heaves a sigh. "Besides that, I heal quickly, in case you haven't noticed. A little of my blood meant nothing if it meant I could prevent the fake from having his way with you."

"But how could you have known such a method would work?"

Kazama gathers his thoughts. "I knew that Chizuru had been giving her blood to that boy," he says, somewhat uncomfortably. It is not a lie, but it is still more a justification than the truth. The _truth_ , plain and simple, was that it had been desperate intuition. "And he seemed not to have lost his mind. Since blood was the only language you seemed to speak at the time, I thought I would try her way instead of wasting words."

Sen frowns. "So you risked your life and spilled your blood for the sake of an uncertain outcome?"

"I did not risk my life," counters Kazama. "I may have spilled more of my blood than I thought, thanks to that fake's hold on you, but I could never have allowed myself to die there. And besides that, the end result was never in doubt; either you would return to yourself, or one of us would kill you, and I acted according to the outcome I preferred. But as you can see, both of us survived. There is no reason to dwell on this anymore."

"It isn't as though I'm _trying_ to dwell on it, Kazama-san," retorts Sen. "I've done my best to put that time from my mind ever since I regained control of myself, but I suppose it was only a matter of time before it surfaced again. In trying to keep my mind off our quarrel yesterday morning, I spent much of the day mulling over Chizuru-chan's letter." She lowers her eyes. "Perhaps mention of her father and the furies caused those experiences to reawaken in my subconscious."

"Those days are long gone."

Scowling, Sen opens her mouth, the beginnings of a fragmented syllable escaping—but she stops herself, pursing her lips as if deliberating whether to continue. Eventually, she gives an infinitesimal sigh and speaks. "Haven't you ever gone through anything in your life that you find yourself reflecting on endlessly, even long after it's over?"

Since their engagement, she has rarely expressed any curiosity about his past, and he has rarely spoken of it. However, though her eyes are guarded, they are also genuinely inquisitive. Perhaps that is why Kazama feels compelled to answer. "I have. But each time I turn over the details, I force myself to think of how the situation was remedied. The fact that I am still here, undefeated, proves my victory." He searches Sen's astonished eyes. "I restored you to yourself, and you have not caused me any lasting damage."

"I… suppose that is true," mutters Sen, looking away from him, and the color rises to her cheeks.

Kazama does not understand why she is blushing, so perhaps he ought to give her a reason. "You _suppose_. Last I checked, we are both alive and well. But if you need some additional convincing," he adds, reaching forward to brush her cheek, "I know of a way to make sure."

Sen snaps instantly into high alert, recoiling from his touch, and swats his hand away. "Now is not the time, Kazama-san."

"I know," says Kazama, withdrawing again, and settles back into seiza once more. He never expected such an overt tactic to work on someone as subtext-oriented as Sen, especially not after everything she put him through yesterday, but it was worth a try.

Sen examines him curiously, but does not address his resignation. "If that is all you have to say on the matter, I would like to bring our conversation back to the topic at hand," she says instead, her body relaxing slightly. "In exchange for my agreement to address you first, I would like _you_ to talk to _me_."

Kazama frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean that I do not consider pleasantries meaningless," says Sen. "In fact, I would argue that they are essential for any relationship at all. After all, the more we come to know one another on a personal level, the more defined our marriage will become." Kazama scowls at her, but Sen meets his eyes evenly. "Much of our conflict thus far has stemmed from uncertainty and insecurity."

"And you think a few more trivial words will be enough to resolve it?" shoots back Kazama. "Talking out our problems is understandable, but I've never seen the point of casual conversation, nor have I engaged in much of it. Besides that, we already tried placing our trust in one another, and you _know_ how easily those promises were broken. What makes you think an agreement like this will work any better this time around?"

Sen sighs, looking away more in a gesture of conciliation than concession. "It was your jealousy and my avoidance that caused both of us to stop last time. Now that we have at least _addressed_ the matter, I have hope that our friction will diminish if we put more of an effort into following through. As I see it, either we will know exactly why we do not get along, or we will no longer have such contentious feelings to begin with." Sen meets Kazama's eyes again, more resolutely still. "All I ask, as usual, is that you try."

That is _not_ all she usually asks, but Kazama nods shortly all the same. Starting another argument will not serve either of them very well right now, particularly since they must wait until the next evening to make up properly.

"Thank you," says Sen, dipping her head, and turns away. "You may go." As Kazama takes his leave and returns to his room, he finds himself looks forward to tomorrow. Not only for the reasons he anticipated—his bed, no longer empty—but because the changes in their relationship will be more visible once she approaches him instead.

Nonetheless, when Sen greets him cordially at breakfast the next morning, Kazama struggles against his instinctive astonishment at the swiftness of her concession. He had not expected her to rise to the occasion so magnificently. This vision of wifely modesty hardly seems like the same woman who forced him to submit to her just the other day.

The mid-autumn morning is sunny but crisp, and the weather is thankfully as good a topic as any to satiate her appetite for conversation. Kazama quickly discovers that this is Sen's favorite season. She loves the days with a light breeze and fluffy clouds, set ablaze by sunrise along with the fall foliage, as she witnessed just this morning. By contrast, Kazama prefers the winter, and he loves the deep dark blue of a clear night sky. Yet he feels extraordinarily tolerant of their differences in opinion, perhaps because they are so trivial. Or perhaps he merely knows tonight will make everything worthwhile.

There are a few more audiences today, which Kazama requests to join. However, as the hours flow on, he soon discovers that there is little of importance to decide, only the day-to-day minutiae of running an independent city-state. Although Sen does not often agree with Kazama's input on the villagers' situations, she is at least willing to hear his opinions, so long as he asks before offering them. More than that, she explains why hers differ, although she still does not brook any further argument or even clarification.

Maybe it is because Kazama holds no genuine investment in the outcome of these discussions, but he discovers a strange coolness in his heart, an unfamiliar sense of apathy. (Or is this acceptance?) At least it helps the time pass more quickly, so that Kazama hardly finds himself impatient for the sun to set at all.

That night is quiet, as though Sen's words faded with the sunlight, but Kazama finds the silence beautiful. She simply arrives, lets fall her robe, and kisses him. There is no need for their usual biting words, her tongue not sharp but soft and hot on his skin along with her breath. Though she has initiated their encounter as ever, there is somehow no undercurrent of control: dominance without domination. She seems more relaxed, almost eager to perform their usual dance.

Yet in Sen's eyes, Kazama sees a warmer, more inclusive kind of lust, not for control but for _him_.

The sensation is contagious, dangerous as any disease, and the smoke in his mind blows in like fog as he recognizes the same beauty he saw through the haze of opium. As they stand together, kneel together, Sen lets him touch her, explore her. Despite her clearly evident desire as she guides his hands, there is little urgency in her manner. Contrary to her usual behavior, perhaps in a show of gratitude, she is more willing to take her time tonight. In fact, Sen seems so wholly uninvested in rushing into her position above Kazama that he fleetingly considers asserting his authority.

But he holds himself back. However welcome a change it may be, this balance is still precarious, and he can sense that her consent will turn to ire if he disrupts it. Of course, Kazama has little reason to complain. As though rewarding him for his restraint, Sen seems as invested in learning his own particular preferences as he is in hers, although he is wary of allowing her to have too much sway over him and his reactions.

Still, as his senses heighten, Kazama feels himself falling into her trap more and more completely. Drunk on her touch, he gives in to her at last, his body unable to bear being separate from hers any longer. Her persuasion has won out over force, and he knows Sen can sense her victory from the triumph in her motions, but cannot bring himself to care. It is well worth whatever sacrifice he may have made, because it takes only minutes before both of them are panting in the aftermath.

But Sen still does not speak. She only gives Kazama a small smile and a hasty kiss, dons her robe, and departs as swiftly and silently as she arrived.

The memory of that night, that _smile_ , dances through Kazama's mind the next day so that he can barely focus on Sen's greetings, or the meaningless exchanges that follow. Conscious of himself again, and of their relative positioning, he realizes how far she has seeped under his skin, like poison—how much control he has let her have over him, even when she is present only in his mind.

Again he is torn between contentment and resentment, and again he retreats back into himself. He is careful not to show it this time, for the sake of her own wishes, but nonetheless his mind is elsewhere all day. And, more than anything else, he dreads the night to come, restless and unfulfilling. A shallow and foolish part of Kazama hopes that if there is nothing to say, as there has not been all day, Sen will offer him some kind of release from the torment of this distraction.

But her expression as he walks through her door that evening tells him otherwise.

"In the coming days, I need you to behave more consistently," says Sen, her voice soft and gentle but matter-of-fact. "This has gone beyond wanting. In order for approaching you first to mean anything, you must take the opportunity to engage me and make your own mood clear in so doing. Give-and-take is the foundation of communication."

"I have never tried to conceal anything from you, least of all my feelings," points out Kazama, although his reactions feel as slow as if he is dreaming.

Sen purses her lips, brows knitting momentarily as she ponders something. "Forgive me; I spoke clumsily. Your mood, itself, is not what confuses me. Rather, the part I don't understand is your variability. How you are feeling is always readily evident, but I am never sure why that is. That means I don't know how to affect your moods, for good or ill."

Though Sen pauses as if inviting Kazama to interject, he has nothing to say. Nor can he meet her eyes; if he looks at her too long, he will lose his concentration. "Am I correct in assuming that your behavior today is to do with, ah, last night?" she continues eventually. Kazama stiffens and nods, but can say nothing. "And am I to take your standoffishness as abhorrence, or encouragement? You see, there is a difference between demonstration and explanation."

"I am not being _standoffish_ ," retorts Kazama, looking up at her sharply. "I have always needed time to process new developments, and last night is no exception. I've just found myself at a loss for what to do or say around you today, that's all."

"Last night, I intended to reward you for having made such progress over the course of yesterday and the evening before," says Sen. "Had I known that would affect your behavior like this today, I might have remained a little more distant."

"Then the connection you established with me was false?" demands Kazama. "Your warmth was all an act?"

"An _act_?" returns Sen, frowning. "Of course not. My behavior may have been deliberate, but it was not contrived. There is a difference, Kazama-san." Kazama wishes to contradict her, but his resolution falters as he remembers the shine of her eyes last night. There is no reason to distrust Sen when his own intuition, working in tandem with his memories of intimacy, tell him that she speaks the truth.

Sen seems to be waiting for him to speak, but Kazama's silence seems to agitate her until finally she continues. "And… how should I improve?" she prompts eventually, examining his expression just a little too closely. Stirred out of his thoughts, Kazama is brought up short. His mind has been otherwise occupied all day; odd as it seems, he has not had time to consider it.

He does not realize that he has shaken his head until Sen quirks an eyebrow. "Really? Nothing?"

"N-not that I can think of," says Kazama, dropping his gaze. He must not allow her to see the extent of his uncertainty; he is sure it will pass as soon as they hit their stride. "And as I recall, I did ask for _two_ corrections a couple days ago, so it evens out. But if you insist…" He moistens his lips. "More of the same, I suppose. And that goes for last night, too."

Sen gives a faint half-smile, and Kazama's heart quickens slightly in a rhythm he does not understand. Perhaps it is because she has worn similar expressions during so many of their nights together. She is tempting fate, and well she knows it, but Kazama is not allowed to touch her tonight. "Very well," she says, gesturing toward the door. "You are dismissed."

"It has only been a few minutes since I arrived," protests Kazama, frowning. But as he speaks, Sen eyes him sharply enough that his tongue freezes, and he cannot finish his sentiment: she already understands his intentions.

"You are _dismissed_ , Kazama-san," repeats Sen, her voice low and testy in warning. "I told you once already; I am not obligated to satisfy you. If you are that concerned with your own fulfillment, I will think no less of you for bringing it upon yourself. I said I would lie with you every other night, and I intend to stand by my word."

"It is not only my own fulfillment that concerns me," growls Kazama, recalling her gasp, the flush across her cheeks, the tight pulsations gripping him. "Not now that you have shown me how to better elicit yours."

Their eyes lock, and for a split second, Sen's will wavers—but an instant later, she closes her eyes altogether. "If you are equally as concerned about _me_ , then listen to what I tell you and go," she says coldly, turning away, although he cannot help but see regret in her countenance. (But then, perhaps that is just what he wishes to see.) "By undermining my authority, you would negate any satisfaction you could offer."

Kazama stares Sen down incredulously for a few moments, but then convinces himself to rise, turn around, and storm out. She has consistently undermined _his_ authority ever since their marriage, but he has forced himself to make the best of his situation, while she has clung to her ill-gotten power. Still, Kazama tires of this injustice; the next day, and the following night, cannot come too soon.

The next morning, he does not wait for Sen to approach him first.

"You are not entitled to your position, you know," he says, seating himself across from her over breakfast. "I merely let you take it for the sake of keeping the peace, and I approach each evening without the expectation of dominance. Yet, despite how I have tolerated your arbitrary and one-sided rules, you still refuse to allow me to pay you so much as a compliment."

"I thought we've been over this, Kazama-san," says Sen evenly, not looking up from her tea. "This is part of my terms, upon which all else is built. But you speak of a compliment? From _you_? This ought to be good."

Kazama narrows his eyes at her veiled insult. "You are well aware of your capabilities," he says, struggling to spit out the words. He is not in a generous enough mood to expound on her physical virtues directly. "You understand the hold you have on me, and how to use it. I doubt many women would ever be able to cultivate such a powerful influence over me."

"Oh, I see," says Sen, nodding, and takes a brief sip of tea. "So ignoring my own wishes in favor of seeking out the pleasure I offer is a compliment."

"This from the woman who was obsessed with whether or not I _wanted_ her, less than a month ago," shoots back Kazama.

Sen twitches, fingers tightening around her cup, and Kazama knows with a sense of triumph that he has brushed against a sore spot. If she intends to point out his contradictions, or request that his behavior be more consistent, she must be prepared to accept the same judgment. "I believe I asked you to talk to me, Kazama-san, not continue our usual arguments," is all Sen says. "Now, what do you fear most?"

Kazama blinks a few times, surprise offsetting his building frustration momentarily. The last conversation to which he paid any attention whatsoever, they discussed the weather, and now she wants him to divulge his innermost secrets, of which even he is unaware? "I don't know."

"Loss of status, perhaps?"

"Never," says Kazama. "I've told you before that leadership has never much appealed to me; it is merely my birthright. If I were relieved of that responsibility, I doubt it would affect me much on a personal level." He has never coveted the position of leader half as much as others in his family, but his father has refused to transfer the title to anyone save his eldest son, the purest of blood.

"Loss of control, then?"

"Losing control doesn't _frighten_ me," says Kazama, although he finds as he speaks that he is not entirely sure how true that is. "I just dislike it. Immensely." Because he wants things done correctly, and as the aphorism goes, it is best for him to do it himself. Besides that, he understands his own patterns better than anyone else, but he has never been adept at articulating them to others.

Sen gazes at Kazama disbelievingly for a moment longer, then sighs. "Forgive me. Perhaps… I am searching too hard for parallels between us." She takes a deep breath, struggling to meet his eyes. "It may be that losing control is not your deepest fear, Kazama-san, but… it is mine. I have already been used and manipulated once, and I have even lost control of _myself_ , body and soul."

"I told you once already," says Kazama impatiently, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table as he looks her in the eye. " _Those days are gone_."

Sen scowls at him. "I thought you enjoyed openness."

"In my bed, yes."

Sen's eyes flash. "Then we have nothing more to say to one another now," she shoots back acidly. "My mistake, Kazama-san. After the intimacy we shared the other night, I thought you may be ready to further our relationship in other areas as well. I see now that you would rather cling to what little you know than allow our marriage to evolve." And before Kazama can even muster a response, she rises and storms out of the room, leaving the last of her tea behind.

Seething, Kazama rehearses belated retorts automatically in his head all day. How dare Sen imply that she is any more willing to develop their relationship than he! And why did she tell him of her deepest fear? Is that an excuse for maintaining her hold on him, or an attempt to win his sympathy? And is her consent always conditional, dependent upon his complete cooperation? How much longer must he subvert his own wishes for the sake of adhering to hers?

Kazama does not see Sen again all day, and half expects to spend the night alone despite her promises, but his door slides open at the appointed time. Her eyes are dull, but determined, the same as they always have been. Except for two nights ago. The memory of warmth sweeps through his mind and body, and he almost shivers at its absence. How can she have given him a taste of true closeness, only to distance herself again? And how can she perceive his natural desire for more as unjustified?

"So you're afraid of losing control," says Kazama, as soon as Sen closes the door behind her. He must say his piece before she wrests all the breath from his lungs. "I assume that means your resistance to the idea of surrendering it to me is rooted in fear. Do you still trust me so little?"

Sen does not react at first, her body stiff and tense as she keeps her back to him, but then she takes a breath and relaxes all at once. "I am trying, Kazama-san," murmurs Sen, turning, and opens her robe to reveal herself. It falls to her elbows, but she does not drop it altogether as she advances. "But it takes time to overcome any fear, especially this one. Please be patient."

"Try _harder_ ," growls Kazama, standing his ground as she reaches him, resting her hand on his chest in the barest beginnings of an embrace. "If we are supposed to be compromising instead of sacrificing, and if you are so dedicated to preserving the peace, you cannot stay in control forever. Or does my will mean nothing in Yase after all?"

Sen's eyes spark in brief indignation, but she smothers the fire before it can ignite, although he can still see the glint of repressed gold. "Now is not the time for this, Kazama-san," she says, her voice measured, but he can hear anger stretched taut in her tone. "Either we can argue and I can go, or I can share your bed."

Kazama scoffs at Sen, but he can already feel his body responding to her expert touch, exacerbated by her triumphant smirk as she feels the shift for herself. "You wouldn't leave after coming this far," he says, half a challenge he prays she will not accept. "I know now that you feel the deprivation as much as I do."

"But my will is stronger," says Sen sweetly, caressing Kazama's face as she meets his eyes with bewildering courage. Kazama curses his slow and clumsy tongue; how can she be so quick to contradict him? "You don't see _me_ begging for _your_ attentions during the off days."

Kazama glares at her, fully focused now. "I do not beg."

"No?" returns Sen, and though her body language is still coy and submissive, her voice lowers to a sensual murmur as she presses herself against him. "Then I will be sure to change that."

As his conscious thoughts shut down, Kazama reflects in the back of his mind how odd it is that she is not trying to rush through the steps despite her evident frustration. In her cold and clear authority, so like the night outside, she somehow retains a scrap of wary warmth. As invested as she is in her position, she still permits his hands to wander—reacting to his touch, appreciating it, responding in kind—before she settles over him in search of their completion.

Still, more than once, Kazama tries to speak, to clarify his point, but Sen slides her slender fingers over his mouth each time. And when he finally musters the strength to sit up beneath her to look her more closely in the eye, she kisses him to snatch his words from his lips. Now he is the silent one, the _silenced_ one, forced to give up his voice for the sake of peace, until he shudders through the end.

"Your time will come, Kazama-san," murmurs Sen, breathing hard against him, and her tone is enough to make him want her all over again. "I cannot say when that will be, but the more you show me that you respect my wishes, the more comfortable with your company I will become, and the more able I will be to grant you what you want. I…"

Sen hesitates, glancing aside, and blushes with all the vestiges of innocence. "I am not trying to make you miserable, Kazama-san." She kisses him again, almost desperate, but breaks away within the moment, before he can pull her in for more. "I promise." Perhaps the afterglow has loosened her tongue, but she seems self-conscious of this, and says no more as she leaves him.

And overnight, the passion of disagreement is tempered with the cool relief of her reassurance so that Kazama awakens refreshed the next day.

Her greeting the next morning is apprehensive, and Kazama's response no less so, but they converse as promised. This time, about better times than those they have spent around one another. Apparently, Sen's favorite memory is sneaking into Kyoto for the first time as a child, which Kazama can imagine with startling clarity. He has to think for some time before he can come up with an equivalent, since he does not have a clear concept of what constitutes happiness, but he believes it is the day he first left home.

"I would never have imagined," says Sen, staring at him incredulously. "I thought you hated humans."

"I do," replies Kazama. "But their cities are large and beautiful, and I'd spent almost my entire life confined to my home village. Even the town nearest our settlement was off-limits to me and all my family, at least until my father conferred upon me his title as clan leader." Much to his brothers' chagrin—one of them in particular. "That was shortly before I set out to repay our debt."

Sen nods in understanding. "So your favorite memory is of setting foot in that village for the first time?"

Kazama shakes his head. "I set foot in that village for the first time a few months before I officially left home. My favorite memory is after that, when I realized that I was finally the master of my own fate, at least within the parameters of my duty." He gives a somewhat uncertain half-smile. "I never wished to walk among humans longer than I must, but I needed the freedom to confirm for myself that it was the right choice."

"I… I think I understand," says Sen, and although her voice is tentative, her tone is honest. "Experience is more valuable than any abstract teachings, no matter how great your faith in them may be."

"Precisely," says Kazama, surprised yet relieved that Sen understands his perspective, and notices that they are sharing a smile for the first time, however small. This must be what she meant by better understanding one another through apparently superficial conversation. Especially if they can smile at one another after yesterday's disagreement. Perhaps it is just the bright autumn sunshine instilling hope, but to Kazama's somewhat resentful satisfaction, it seems that Sen's plan may be working.

That night passes just as smoothly, and so does the next day, and the next, until the week blurs together into a reassuringly regular pattern of constant improvement. Kazama finds himself almost content with his situation. Perhaps unconsciously, they have begun to linger over the nights they share a bed, Sen's receptiveness gradually becoming second nature. Even their in-between interactions have come to feel less adversarial. The few moments Kazama does find himself growing frustrated, Sen's reassurance and warning, both sides intertwined in his mind, whisper of the peace they have found, urging him to avoid reigniting an argument.

They still disagree more often than not, and Kazama remains displeased with their overall arrangement, but he has learned that biting his tongue is less trouble than letting loose reckless retorts. Sen, too, is less confrontational than usual, although whether her shift in attitude is in response to Kazama's own subdued behavior or not is beyond him. Still, it is enough that she _is_ , and the reason is secondary for once.

The end of those two weeks comes quickly, but the last day is as slow as any other. In honor of reaching the end of their trial period, Sen proposes that they both discuss their plans for the future _and_ lie together, with which suggestion Kazama agrees wholeheartedly. However, when she comes to his room fully dressed and long before the appointed time, he feels no anticipation save dread.

Something is wrong—her mannerisms are agitated and anxious—but he does not have to ask why. "Okiku has just returned," says Sen, eyes glimmering in worry. "I thought… given your wish to be more involved, you may be interested in what she has to say." Kazama says nothing, only rising to hurry after her. The sense of urgency in her voice is more than enough to compel him to follow her to the main hall, no questions asked.

Sen throws open the door, leaving Kazama to snap it shut again, and strides over to her cushion. "My lady," greets Kimigiku, her startled violet eyes lingering on Kazama as he seats himself next to Sen instead of his typical position. "Is this why you asked me to postpone our audience?"

Kazama glances over at Sen, surprised despite himself. Based on her frantic behavior, he assumed she had already heard the report, and only wished to have Kimigiku repeat whatever she had learned to him, but it seems she has instead chosen to hear it for the first time together. "Never mind that now," she says, breathless already. "Speak, Okiku. What news is there?"

"I was unable to identify any overt threats," says Kimigiku, her sharp eyes downcast and contemplative. "However, the humans have not only continued to discuss the exact terms of our service and actions, but have specifically referred to what must be 'done' with us." She bows her head as Kazama stares at her in horror. "Their intentions may be unknown, but even the fact that they are trying to hide this information does not bode well for us."

"You are my most reliable agent, Okiku," says Sen, frowning slightly. "And, as I recall, you positioned several of your clan close to various members of the imperial court. How has the court successfully eluded you for so long?"

"It is possible…" says Kimigiku, closing her eyes. "Having employed us as their spies for centuries, the imperial court knows how our agents operate better than any other outsiders. It is not inconceivable that they have used this knowledge to conceal crucial information from us. Otherwise…" She trails off as if to say something else, but then shakes her head. "No, it's nothing."

"Tell me," commands Sen.

Kimigiku turns her face away. "It _may_ be, although it is highly unlikely, that not all the demons in the employ of the imperialist domains have quit the humans' service. However, I have not encountered any such demons, nor do I believe they could or would directly oppose their own kind. It is much more probable that our adversaries are human, no matter how clever they may be."

Sen takes a deep breath, her expression inscrutable. "Understood," she says, with all the authority of her station. "If you have returned before your mission is accomplished, I assume you have come to request an alteration to your assignment."

"Please allow me to take a few more of my clan on a follow-up mission," says Kimigiku, her answer immediate. "With more eyes and ears accompanying me personally in addition to those stationed elsewhere, we may be able to assess whether my suspicions are correct. In the meantime… the prosperity of Yase has never faltered under your rule, Princess. Please do as you see fit to ensure the villagers' safety, and I am sure all will be well."

Sen's lips twitch, her brow contracting, but she closes her eyes before Kazama can ascertain her exact expression. "As you have asked me to do as I see fit, I ask the same of you. Take whomever you wish, but… please take care, Okiku." As she speaks, she bows to the floor, and Kazama inclines his head. "Send me regular reports in the usual fashion, and return to me safely. I will be waiting for you."

"I will, my lady," says Kimigiku, nodding to her (and, after a slight pause, to Kazama), and swiftly takes her leave.

However, despite Kimigiku's sense of urgency and action, Sen and Kazama can only sit quietly for the next several moments, numb and silent. The audience has come and gone so quickly that Kazama has hardly had a chance to process all that has just occurred, but in the wake of Kimigiku's departure, the full truth of the situation crashes down on his shoulders so that he can barely breathe.

Kazama has never trusted humans, but this blatant disrespect toward him and his requests sparks the fire of righteous anger in his belly, the like of which he has not felt for more than a year. He would like nothing better than to strike before the court has the chance to betray them, as they inevitably will, but those remaining would never sit back and take such a blow. To rid the world of their ilk would be satisfying in the moment, but it would undoubtedly bring the wrath of their allies upon all of demonkind. Again.

Glancing over at Sen, Kazama finds that she is no longer suppressing her emotions. He supposes that now that her audience is gone, there is no need to maintain her composure. Her breaths are uneven, her eyes glazed in grief, and her fists grip her kimono as though she is in physical pain. The first words she speak are barely above a breath, addressed to no one: "And Yoshiko's son would see us so undone."

"The emperor's mother," mutters Kazama. He has heard little of Nakayama Yoshiko's involvement with the demons, but recalls that she was permitted to reside in Yase for a time during her childhood. Primarily due to the scandal it provoked among his family and several others.

Hearing a formless question in Kazama's tone, Sen turns toward him with a bitter smile. "Do you remember what you said all those years ago? When I asked you why you and Amagiri informed me of the Satsuma and Choshu's plans to put Yoshiko's son on the throne?"

Kazama bows his head. Yes, he remembers, although he wishes he could say otherwise. "To… hurt you." That response had been pure pettiness, lashing out at her for refusing to cooperate. It had been beneath him as a demon and as a man, but he cannot take it back now.

"Well, it has," says Sen, her voice threatening to break, and turns her face away again. "Japan has grown more dangerous of late, and as my information network has deteriorated, so too has my own connection to the court. I do not know the Emperor's personal feelings, or Yoshiko's, but they are irrelevant. Human or demon, we are all bound to our duty, and ours are no longer aligned. I doubt the new court has any interest in maintaining old alliances anymore."

"Even after I intervened on your behalf," growls Kazama, rage washing over him all over again. "The Satsuma swore to me _in writing_ that they would never try to bring my clan back into their war, nor would they involve any of the demons of Yase in their affairs."

"Kazama-san," says Sen, shaking her head. "The imperial court may be influenced by the clans serving it, but they are not synonymous. Even if the Satsuma men intend to abide by your terms, those from other domains may not feel bound by the same promise. And besides, I thought you of all demons understood that humans seldom stand by their word as firmly as we do. If they believe they have us outmatched, nothing as fragile as an oath can stop them."

Glaring at the wall, Kazama hisses a curse under his breath. Yase may be under the protection of Kazama and his clan, but that means little if the humans do not recognize and respect his authority. He has done all within his power to prevent the humans from involving the demons in any more of their asinine conflicts, yet still they ignore his demands in favor of pursuing their own selfish agenda.

Not that Kazama has ever thought humans wise, but he anticipated that it would be the _next_ generation or so that inevitably failed to remember their promises, not the very same men with whom he made his agreements. It seems that the fear of demons has so thoroughly left them that they have come to treat them as their playthings. If human memory is so fleeting, there is little doubt that the demons are not free of their influence yet.

Sen looks at him and tries to smile, but she has never looked so melancholy, although her eyes are as dry as her voice. "Are you thinking about your vows of protection?" she asks quietly, and though her voice might ordinarily be scathing, Kazama hears only despair. "How you needn't have offered me so much after all, since the humans may have chosen to gloss over your terms regardless?"

Kazama shakes his head. "No," he says, and her glassy eyes widen slightly in surprise. "Even had I the power to go back and alter the conditions of our arrangement, I would change nothing. Your hand in marriage is well worth allying my clan with yours." And besides, he adds privately, it is not as though she would have accepted his proposal had he _not_ included a promise of protection.

Sen says nothing, and her eyes are distant, so Kazama chooses to continue. "I was reflecting that living among demons again has made me complacent. I had forgotten exactly how much I despise humans, but… now I remember." He scrutinizes Sen's expression; she looks as though a beloved friend has turned traitor. "But then, perhaps it is easier that way. Your people have always associated with them much more freely than mine."

"My clan has only ever associated with the imperial court," Sen corrects him. "At least, before the coup. But ever since then…" But she trails off, shaking her head. "It is true that the villagers of Yase are more open-minded about race than many, living so close to the human capital and making our livelihood alongside them, but we have never associated so closely with humans that we lose sight of the differences between us."

Kazama looks Sen in the eye. "Then why do you feel so warmly about the emperor's mother?"

"I… confess I don't know the exact circumstances," says Sen, lowering her eyes. "I am told I was a newborn when Yoshiko first came to Yase, and she only stayed a few years before she went to serve in the palace. But she treated me with such kindness. Like her younger sister, even though she was human. In the years before she took her son to live in the palace with the emperor, she came to see me several times, and…" Sen lets out a long breath, closing her eyes. "After my mother died, more than ten years ago now, Yoshiko felt as much like a parent to me as the council that raised me."

"Many things change over ten years," says Kazama. "Ten years ago, you were a child, and I had no experience in the outside world. Ten years from now, we will have built a family and future of our own, independent of all these humans." He rests a hand on Sen's shoulder. "People change, humans more quickly than demons. The woman who mothered you then is not the same as the emperor's mother now."

"She is never far from my mind as I remember her, Kazama-san," mumbles Sen, curling slightly in on herself as though trying to make herself appear as small as possible. "No matter what the future holds, and how time may turn us against one another, I can't help but think back to happier days."

Kazama sighs, but knows better than to try and persuade Sen to abandon her characteristic sentimentality. "Suit yourself, then. But while you cling to the past, I will be planning for our future." He strokes Sen's silky hair in the gentle touches she appreciates most, hoping to draw them both back into their bodies, but her eyes are troubled as she turns away.

"Please, Kazama-san," she murmurs. "I know I agreed to share your bed tonight, and that we were supposed to consider how to act going forward, but can we postpone it until tomorrow?" Sen looks exhausted in the shadow of her memories, all hopes and expectations dashed in light of Kimigiku's news. Truth be told, Kazama scarcely feels more optimistic about their situation.

As welcome a distraction as their usual ritual would be, neither of them have the time or energy to engage in the quality of intimacy to which they have become accustomed. Reverting to their original, hastier technique would only result in frustration. Even the vague hope that Sen may be vulnerable enough to allow Kazama control is immediately dispelled by the realization that his own thoughts are too far away for him to prove his worthiness.

After a brief pause as he weighs his options, Kazama sighs. "If you wish," he says, withdrawing his hand. As he speaks, Sen turns to stare at him, fluttering her lashes in undisguised astonishment. "I doubt either of us could derive any pleasure from our usual proceedings on a night like this," points out Kazama, amused at her shock despite himself. That, in itself, makes abstaining for the night worthwhile. "I believe we both have enough to think about for now."

When Sen says nothing, Kazama gets to his feet and makes his way to the door, his obligation fulfilled for the night, but Sen calls to him. "Kazama-san," she says, and he turns to look back at her over his shoulder. "I have not said it often enough lately, but… I would like to thank you. For cooperating. I really do appreciate your patience, you know."

Kazama hesitates, torn between accepting her gratitude and explaining that this has nothing to do with patience, but his tongue refuses to respond to either impulse. "I know, Sen," he says instead, nodding once, and steps out of the hall.


	7. rainstorm

After Kazama closes the door behind him, Sen sits in solitary silence for several breathless moments before the storm breaks.

The shock of danger has not yet worn off, but tears prick at Sen's eyes all the same, her chest hollow and aching. Her village may not be in immediate peril, but despite Kazama's assistance, her former friends have become potential foes. Had the imperial court kept up their regular contact, Sen might never have been concerned enough to send Kiku on her original mission. Even now, she might still be blissfully ignorant of any schemes the humans are planning.

Amid her whirling thoughts and barely suppressed emotions, hardest for Sen to recognize is the end of an alliance that has lasted for centuries before her reign began, and it is unlikely that diplomacy alone can solve such an issue. But still, she thinks, more desperately. If she can only make it clear to the humans that they can reach some kind of understanding… if she were to visit the imperial court herself, and convince them to…

 _No_. Sen realizes she has stopped breathing, and takes a slow, deep breath. The situation is already unstable, and placing herself directly in the line of fire would solve nothing. If anything, it might make matters exponentially worse. If the humans are truly plotting something, to go directly to the court herself or even to send an envoy would be akin to surrender. The winds are still changing; it is impossible to say which is the correct course. All that remains is to allow the humans to make the first move, and pray for her people in the meantime.

The first tear falls, and startles Sen into action. She cannot allow herself to dissolve here. This is the hall where she and all her ancestors have set aside their individual selves for centuries, becoming the Princess of Yase—as much an identity as a title. It is better if she returns to her chambers before she pollutes this hallowed hall with any more of her personal doubts and fears.

Even after she hurries to her room, she can find no peace. First and foremost on her mind is worry, of course, and the anger that comes with helplessness. As her heart and mind both race, Sen considers going to Kazama for comfort, even if only of a physical kind, but immediately tells herself no. She has no desire to give him a second chance to overthrow her; she had seen the thought cross his mind, even if only for a heartbeat.

Still, Sen had never anticipated that Kazama might have grown so sensitive to her situation over the past couple weeks, much less that the news would affect him in a similar way. Even over the course of his steady improvement, he has never agreed with her assessment so readily. Yet the solace of his unexpected understanding does little to offset her anxiety.

Forcing her thoughts away from her own situation, Sen finds herself mulling over Chizuru's, although that too is far from restful. She has not yet managed to finish her response to her dear friend's latest letter, much less a gift in honor of her news. But, if only to have one fewer thing to worry about, she may as well try. This is one duty she is capable of fulfilling on her own, if she can only focus long enough to do so.

Crawling over to her desk, Sen retrieves the letter she began several days ago. _Dear Chizuru-chan_ , she reads, and is promptly relieved at her foresight in the next words: _I apologize for the delay in my response, but now that I have finally found the time to set brush to paper, may I offer the sincerest congratulations! New life is always something to celebrate, especially after the turmoil of the last era. I am sure that you will be a good mother, and from what you have told me of your husband, I believe that Toudou-san will be just as good a father._

 _You honor me even with the thought of naming your child after me. I never expected such recognition, and I am at a loss as to how to convey my feelings. My instinct is to tell you to bestow upon your daughter a worthier name, as mine was tarnished for a time. But I know better than to think you would listen—so instead I can only express my delight and gratitude, and urge you to do as you will. (As you have always done, it seems, and all for the best!)_

 _To speak of more serious matters, I take no offense at your asking for information on Kodo-san's notes, but unfortunately, I have no leads._ Sen takes a deep breath as she hits the familiar wall. The rest of her situation has been too complicated for her to articulate, so she takes a moment to think before resuming her letter. _Furthermore, circumstances prevent me from sending anyone to track them down at the moment. However, I will do what I can to recover his research whenever possible._

Sen pauses. How much of her own situation should she disclose…? _Your willingness to listen to my troubles is much appreciated, but I would not wish to burden you with the political intricacies of my life as Princess of Yase. Rest assured that Kazama-san and I are both well for now, and in the process of finding peace; my situation at present is simply more complicated than usual. Still, I will be sure to let you know about any important developments, both personally and as regards your father's notes._

Sen swallows reflexively. Should she tell Chizuru about her father, or allow her to carry on the false hope that he will come home someday? Perhaps it is the lateness of the hour, but Sen cannot help but think she has been silent long enough, and forces herself to take action before she can think better of it. _Chizuru-chan, there is no easy way to say this, and I do not wish to cause you grief, but… I believe Kodo-san may have been killed during the furies' takeover of Sendai._

Taking a moment to steady her hand before continuing, Sen revises her words, searching for any hint of tactlessness, but cannot think straight. _I remember little from that time, but the recollection of Sanan-san's betrayal and your father's death lingers in my mind more powerfully than my many nightmares. Believe me, I would reverse his fate if possible, but I want you to know the truth. It has been weighing on me lately, as your own fears have weighed on you; I pray that you can forgive me for any part I may have played in his demise._ She cannot bring herself to say that she was directly responsible.

 _I am sorry to end my letter on such a grim note, but I did not know how else to tell you,_ Sen writes, but is surprised by a tear dropping onto the paper. Scrubbing at her cheek furiously, she continues, _Our past may be dark, but your future, at least, may be bright. Please inform Toudou-san that I commend him for his role in your happiness. If you are like a sister to me, then it follows that he is like a brother._

 _I wish you all the best, and apologize once more for the news I bear,_ she finishes, somewhat awkwardly. _Sen._

She does not consciously remember returning to her bed, but she must have done so at some point, because that is where she awakens the next morning. The weight in her heart presses upon her chest so heavily that even after her awakening, she can only lie staring at the ceiling for several minutes. Eventually, dragging herself from her bed, Sen goes through the motions of preparing herself for the day.

After drawing herself a hot bath in the hopes of soaking away her sorrows, Sen sits in the water, curled in on herself, until it becomes lukewarm. She has already thought all her thoughts before, yet her mind still insists on repeating them in an endless cycle of fear and frustration. If anything, answering Chizuru's letter has only freed up more space for the worry to set in.

Breakfast has never sounded so unappetizing; Sen knows she is too anxious to eat anything. Nonetheless, Kazama's company has never felt so desirable, so she turns her feet to the dining hall anyway. Maybe it is only because he is familiar, or maybe it is because his temper has lessened of late, but Sen finds herself looking forward to seeing him, if only to commiserate. But even at this hour, Kazama has not made his first appearance.

Sen waits for several minutes, declining her meal in the meantime, but still he does not arrive. It would be easy enough to send someone to find him, but Sen has an overabundance of nervous energy. Getting to her feet, she stalks through her halls herself, but as she walks, she discovers that he is not in the main hall, nor in any of the courtyards. Since Kazama has never once strayed from the palace grounds, he must still be in his room.

Her pace increasing to match her racing pulse, Sen makes her way to his chambers… and hesitates. She has nothing in particular she wishes to discuss with him, apart from their usual conversations and a delayed fulfillment of last night's agreement, so she can hardly justify waking him. Nor is he integral to Yase's system of government, as he is only her consort. Why, then, does she feel such a strong desire to see _him_ , speak to _him_? She has a multitude of other confidants, albeit not as close as Kiku.

But then, most of them are still unaware of how precarious Yase's situation has become, and Sen cannot bear to explain the situation so soon after hearing about it herself. She had initially thought Kazama's insistence on inclusion selfish, and he may have intended it to be, but allowing him access to the same pool of knowledge has enabled her to avoid having to explain herself in order to confide in someone.

Sen takes a slow, deep breath to calm her heart. It may be best for her to let Kazama lie, but first, she must at least ensure that he is _there_. Softly, she announces her presence, but hears no response. After several seconds have passed, she opens her mouth to repeat herself, but thinks better of it. Sliding the door open carefully, she steps inside and closes it behind her.

She discovers Kazama still asleep, slumped over his desk in his kimono from yesterday. Kiku's news must have affected him more deeply than she thought; this is the most vulnerable Sen has ever seen him. But upon closer examination, Kazama's body is obscuring a document he had clearly been working on, but several crumpled copies lie scattered around his desk: evidently, she was not the only one who chose to occupy her restless mind with writing.

Sen frowns. This is not a journal entry, and she has not known him to keep any steady correspondence. Kazama's father has contacted him before, but he has never shown any interest in responding. She does not realize she has stooped to pick up one of the discarded letters until her fingers brush thin paper. Judging from the amount of ink on the page, this appears to be one of his later copies, and therefore more complete.

Straightening up again, she smooths it out as quietly as possible and reads. Kazama's handwriting is beautiful as always, but much hastier than usual, and considerably less even. _Takahiro. As_ _you requested, I write to notify you that the humans either intend to betray us or have already done so, and ask you in return to keep me informed of the goings-on around the village. I don't know what the humans are planning, but I am concerned for the safety of our people. Don't tell Father I—_

The letter ends in a meaningless scribble of frustration, Kazama's last brushstroke trailing off until the ink runs dry, and Sen's eyes return to the beginning. _Takahiro_. She has heard the name, once, in conjunction with the Kazama family, and _Father_ —not _my father_ , but _Father_ —implies that this is one of his brothers. Yet he has not mentioned receiving any messages from the rest of his family…

"Sen," mumbles Kazama, and Sen jumps; there is no time to hide the evidence. Slowly, he raises his head and blinks at her, eyes adjusting to the sunlight before locking onto the paper in her hand and flicking back to her face. "Did you read my letter?"

Sen bows her head, proffering the draft. "I… I apologize."

Kazama snatches it away from her and throws it aside, then seizes and rips up his more recent copy. From what little Sen can discern, it is almost identical, only neater. "I should never have tried to contact him so soon. After last night, I felt that I had to do something, and requesting assistance seemed like a good idea at the time." He sighs. "I realized shortly before I fell asleep that it wasn't my news to tell after all, but it also _wasn't your letter to read_."

"I'm sorry," says Sen, recognizing her cue and bowing more deeply this time. She is curious, but the warning in Kazama's voice is plain as day, and she knows better than to ask. "I only intruded because we postponed our talk yesterday evening, but…" Kazama gets to his feet and stretches, swaying in place. He may be awake now, but his legs are undoubtedly still asleep. "If you need some time, we can wait."

"That depends on how much _talking_ you wish to do," says Kazama, crossing his arms. "It may be faster if I begin."

Sen dips her head in apprehensive agreement, but it becomes noticeably harder for Kazama to meet her eyes, almost as though he had hoped she would insist. It takes him a few seconds to gather his thoughts, but he continues within the moment, though his tone is one of reluctance. "Since your agenda has worked so well these last couple weeks, I move that we continue the same pattern indefinitely."

"O-oh," says Sen, caught off-guard. True to Kazama's assumption, she would have spent a significantly longer time confirming their current situation before getting to the point. She never would have guessed him to be in such a charitable mood so shortly after awakening, especially as he'd caught her reading a private letter.

"Is that a problem?" Kazama seems more amused than anything else.

"No, not at all," says Sen, taking a moment to find the right words before continuing tentatively. "Yours is simply more generous a response than I anticipated. I am… pleasantly surprised, Kazama-san."

"Why should you be?" asks Kazama, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You are finally beginning to understand me, and I you. Not _all_ your ideas are delusional." Sen scowls; Kazama always knows exactly how to shatter a moment, spinning compliments into insults, and in fact seems to take pride in that.

"All right," says Sen, fighting back exasperation long enough to nod. "But last night, we were able to decide consciously that we were incapable of engaging one another as usual, and I believe that was the right decision to preserve the peace. Therefore, I propose that we use my schedule as a basic structure, but that we allow ourselves and one another to diverge from it as we see fit."

"Meaning that you will lie with me more often again?"

"Or _less_ often," says Sen. "My intention is to move toward a more organic relationship, in which both of us can find middle ground without having to schedule it. How often we share a bed will depend on how both of us feel at the time, and I cannot predict that."

Kazama eyes her skeptically, then heaves a sigh. "Just don't blame me if our desires don't align. They never have before, so I won't be surprised if some of our previous arguments reignite in weeks to come."

Sen nods once, privately marveling at his easy acceptance. "I understand."

Kazama shifts in place, peering at her more closely, and Sen realizes that her wonderment may not be so private after all. Despite her reputation for being calm and collected, she has never been especially adept at concealing her initial reactions. "Is this really cause for such astonishment?"

"I am not astonished," says Sen. "But it is somewhat… startling… that you have become so open to change so quickly, considering that so many of our arguments have concerned a refusal to compromise. I confess myself very much disarmed."

"I _did_ say your method was working," says Kazama, but his tone is so dismissive that he not only slips out of her insult, but negates his own praise. Sen finds herself perplexed as to why he is letting it go. But then he continues, "But now that we've determined our course of action, I seem to recall that there is more to our interactions than talking…"

As he speaks, he brushes his hands lightly along her shoulders, and Sen inhales. His meaning cannot be mistaken as his hand slips to hers, and he leads her to his futon, sinking to his knees as his fingers trail down the rest of her body, both roguish and respectful. His messy hair shines gold in the sunlight, his eyes glinting like rubies as he gazes expectantly up at her, but Sen hesitates.

Something about the daylight has transformed not only the room, but them as individuals. The late-morning sun is full and bright, flooding into the room through thin paper walls. There is no glow of lantern-light softening their features, no darkness into which blushes can disappear. Even still clothed, Sen already feels naked under Kazama's sharp scrutiny, and she fears how effortlessly he guided her to his bed.

His eyes are lazy, idly curious, and the way in which he reclines—relaxed yet prepared for anything—reminds Sen of a snake sunning itself. "You know very well that you have no reason to be shy."

"I…" begins Sen, glowering, but trails off as she realizes she does not know how to counter him. Kazama may have gotten less blatantly confrontational over the last two weeks, but he is still just as careless with subtext. Furthermore, his assumptions may be accurate, but he has not yet learned to be _tactful_. Rather, Kazama has become maddeningly confident in and self-satisfied with his newfound ability to read her.

"Oh, I suppose you mean to tell me I'm wrong," says Kazama, cocking his head. "Aren't you the one who insisted I learn your body language? I've been studying your behavior for the last two weeks." He makes a sweeping gesture of exaggerated invitation. "But if you're _not_ shy, enlighten me as to what you're really thinking. I'll wait."

As he speaks, Kazama shrugs off the top half of his kimono, and Sen narrows her eyes. Her husband has no intention of _waiting_. He knows he is right, but that is not enough for him; she must admit it too. That alone is enough to make her want to refuse him, and given their agreement, she even has the right to do so.

Yet, although Sen could postpone this particular duty until the evening, something keeps her immobilized, almost transfixed. It feels to her as though this moment is irreplaceable—that she will be turning her back on an opportunity of some sort. "What do you want me to say, Kazama-san?" she asks, crossing her arms, and feels the color rising to her cheeks as she tries (and fails) to avoid looking directly at him. "I already feel exposed."

Kazama looks up at her, raising his eyebrows, but she cannot identify his expression. "Are you afraid of me, Sen?"

"No."

"Are you afraid someone will intrude?"

Sen hesitates, thinking. "No more than I ever am. That is… not especially." The servants have been instructed never to go near either of their rooms until they are certain that both Kazama and Sen are elsewhere.

"Then what _are_ you afraid of?"

Sen pauses to consider his question. This does not feel like fear, cold and blind and grasping, but electric like apprehension or anticipation, subconscious preparation for something she has never known. Maybe that is the answer, but Sen cannot articulate it. "I… I don't know."

"Neither do I," says Kazama. "If all you fear is losing control, I have no intention of taking it from you. And if you are that self-conscious, you needn't undress fully. But if you have no intention of indulging me, leave _now_ , because it is getting difficult to look at you."

Sen glances down at herself, but cannot imagine what he sees, how she must appear to him. Her sleep last night was short and disturbed, and her morning ritual haphazard. More than that, she is far from steady on her feet, and her thoughts remain vague and unsettled, yet Kazama looks at her the same way as ever, his lust unchanging.

Their eyes lock, and Sen loses her strength in both body and will, sinking to her knees. In a world of increasingly more variables, even a problematic constant provides a welcome handhold. She does not feel obligated to indulge Kazama, so much as _compelled_. As he reaches forward to part the lower half of her kimono, Sen's eyes flutter shut. Light and darkness flicker across her eyelids as she moves, feeling her way through kisses and caresses until she finds her place.

With her eyes closed, it is easier for Sen to believe herself invisible, incorporeal, detached from her surroundings. Drinking in sensations without sight, she finds herself chasing a kind of frustration, spurred on by the friction of fabric on skin. No troublesome thoughts trespass in her mind, lost amid hazy desire—innocent, in its way, a wish to absorb herself in one of few duties she can fulfill—until the end ripples through them both at once, and her eyes fly open from the shock.

Sunlight seems to fill them, overflowing through their eyes and in their gasping breath as sweet simultaneity binds their senses together. And even after she comes back to herself, pupils readjusting to the light, red is the first color she sees: Kazama is gazing at her through half-closed eyes. Sen flushes at the realization that he has been observing her for some time, though she cannot imagine why she should be ashamed.

Muttering something indistinct even to herself, Sen stumbles to her feet, rearranges her clothes, and makes her escape. As her head clears, Sen reflects that this curious daze may be akin to what Kazama felt on the night she first approached him more openly. This bewildering warmth, a stark contrast from their usual distant dance, is soothing enough to make her suspicious. She knows in her heart that the softness in Kazama's countenance was genuine, yet that truth and the impossible fantasy of a falsehood are equally as distressing.

Sure enough, as restless hours melt into days, Sen discovers that her malaise has only been sedated instead of dispelled. Not that her heart was ever in her nights with Kazama, but it seems that now her mind is elsewhere, too. Sharing his bed numbs her thoughts long enough that she can relax temporarily, but she still senses the underlying unease… and, to her alarm and confusion, a vague frustration has begun to sabotage her satisfaction.

Sen cannot say whether Kazama feels it too, but he certainly senses _her_ discontentment. More than once, she sees it in his eyes, the glimmer of a question he never asks—and Sen cannot decide whether to be more grateful for or furious about his restraint. They both understand that she will only grow more agitated if he places any pressure on her to identify her nameless irritation, but at the same time, they are supposed to be getting more comfortable with addressing their grievances.

But their true test comes when Sen begins her bleeding again.

"Has it really been a month already?" asks Kazama, his tone one of disbelief.

Sen lets out a short breath, fixing her eyes firmly on the floor. "My apologies."

Kazama hesitates, then shakes his head. "It isn't your fault." He is not half as impatient as Sen anticipated. Indeed, he appears only mildly disappointed, if any of his moods can be said to be _mild_. They have come just far enough that the improvement over their original situation is readily evident. Perhaps, over the past month, he has come to understand Shiranui and Amagiri's points a little better now.

"I need the whole week to myself," says Sen. "Often, my other symptoms outlast the most obvious, and… I prefer to be at my best." She says it more to reassure Kazama than anything else, but the sentiment does contain an element of truth. Mostly, she needs the time to work out what has gone wrong, but there is a significant amount of vanity there as well.

Kazama scowls. "You may take _one_ more day than it lasts. Any more than that, and you'll be running." Sen shudders as his icy red eyes pierce right through to her heart. This is the nearest he has come to mentioning the peculiar distance between them, born of increasing closeness.

Sen takes a deep breath. "If you insist, Kazama-san," she says, swallowing the urge to contradict him. "But it may still take some time before I hit my stride again, as it were."

"I'll be several days out of practice by that time as well," points out Kazama, giving the ghost of a smile. "There are plenty of more important things to worry about than your performance, if you ask me."

But their daily conversations over the next uneventful week imply otherwise. Although the intangible tension between them continues, it seems more subdued, less prominent in their interactions. Sen catches herself relaxing again, giving herself over to the flow of their discussions, her dissatisfaction drifting away in the current. The improvements are so steady that they cannot possibly throw them away for the sake of something so intangible as formless, half-forgotten frustration.

"It occurs to me that, amid all our talk of the present, we've barely touched on the future," says Kazama suddenly one evening. "Apart from our duty to produce an heir, and our attempts to do so, we have invested very little time in discussing the direction our shared life should take."

Sen frowns. "Our future is more uncertain than ever, Kazama-san. And in any case, it is built on our pasts. Of the two of us, you are clearly less comfortable with matters of home and family, so I have been biding my time until you are ready. However…" She pauses. Kazama hasn't been _secretive_ , exactly, but he has hardly been as forthcoming as usual. "Until now, you have never mentioned either subject except in passing. I confess I didn't expect you to broach them all at once."

"Don't misunderstand," says Kazama, fingers twitching restively. " _My_ home and family are irrelevant. I mean to talk about _ours_." Sen opens her mouth, but he raises his voice to deter her from interjecting. "If you're waiting for certainty, you'll be waiting the rest of your life—and if you're waiting for me to talk to you about my upbringing, you'll be waiting even longer. Plans can always be revised, and if your aim is to make peace in preparation for raising our child, it follows that we should have some guidelines."

Sen nods slowly. Much as she hates to admit it, Kazama does have a point. "Do you have something in mind?"

Kazama inclines his head. "Both of us are the leaders of our clan, and both of us have a responsibility to our people. We have agreed that our firstborn is to be heir to the Kazama clan, so he ought to be raised as part of _my_ family. However, _you_ cannot leave Yase for long, and something tells me you won't permit any other woman to nurse him."

Sen shakes her head. "Every Princess of Yase raises her own children, and I will be no exception. If I am to give birth to our child, I expect to be his only mother."

Kazama inclines his head, unsurprised. "Then the three of us will be bound together as a family. My question is… shall we remain in Yase, or move to my village once you conceive?"

"We need only consider which of our villages will suffer more in our absence," says Sen. "I am currently the only surviving member of the head family, and thus the only one qualified to sit on the throne. But _your_ village is still under your father's rule, correct?"

Bowing his head more in resignation than affirmation, Kazama narrows his eyes. "Yes."

Sen examines his expression closely. His answer is terser even than usual, but she knows better than to pry. "Then I believe our course is clear. Since the Kazama throne is not vacant in your absence, the way mine would be if I left, we will stay here."

"But my father will not rule my village forever," insists Kazama. "He has already written more than once to request that I come home and learn the skills I will need to take his place someday. My childhood and adolescence were spent learning to be an honorable demon—and to live alongside my half-brothers." He drops his gaze. "You may have guessed that I never paid much attention to my father's lectures on leadership."

"That… did cross my mind," confesses Sen. Throughout their discussions about the villagers' situations, Kazama has displayed little skill and less interest in governmental affairs, though Sen is well aware that his instincts are good. Initially, she had been surprised that someone destined to inherit the leadership of his clan would be so distant from his people, but she never inquired about why.

Something more important occurs to Sen, and she frowns. "You said your father has summoned you home," she says tentatively. "That he has sent several letters. Have you never responded to any of them?"

Kazama shifts his stance and glances aside, his countenance as guilty as his conscience must be. "No," he growls, and Sen narrows her eyes. It isn't like him to procrastinate. "I've told you before that I have no interest in political power. How many more times must I say it before you believe me?"

"But this is your _father_ ," presses Sen. "I was under the impression that your duty to your family is of the utmost importance, no matter how impersonal your relationships may be. I'd have expected you to at least send a reply, even if only to refuse."

"I am undertaking a vastly more important duty than my father could ever give me," says Kazama, more sharply, "and I chose this one for myself. There are many other people among both our council and our family that would be better suited to take the throne than I, but _they_ cannot produce an heir. And besides, my father will not understand the sentiment any better in a letter than he ever has in person. Silence sends much more of a message."

Kazama has never been good at concealing his feelings, and his family is clearly a distressing subject if he has grown so visibly agitated in such a short time. Though his logic is sound, it seems more like a justification than the truth—as though he arrived at the conclusion through his own strong feelings rather than through calm and cool observation, as is usual with him. (So he _is_ capable of pure and irrational emotion after all.)

True to Kazama's assertion, the ensuing silence says more than further words ever could, and the conversation comes to an end, but Sen's reflections persist. Her bleeding stops the next day, and their nights begin again the day after that. But, though there has always been something missing, it feels as though a larger hole has been torn between them.

Their nights together have become routine. Predictable. And there is something dissatisfied, unnerved, in Kazama's expression in their rapidly dimming afterglow, which Sen feels is beginning to mirror her own. More than once, she wonders whether their current situation stems from their unexpected _lack_ of problems. Since their relationship has become oriented around identifying and resolving disagreements, it stands to reason that it may malfunction once they run out of rough patches to smooth out.

Yet this very disquiet is proof that they _do_ still have their differences, and therefore they have no choice but to remain in the same endless, changeless cycle. Sen knows that constants are more reliable than variables, and they are in search of a stable arrangement. In all other areas of their partnership, they have learned to set aside their dislike and act in the interest of peace and productivity. Why, then, do they find themselves at such a loss for how to act within the constraints they freely adopted?

Kazama's temper, too, seems to be shortening by the day, but neither of them is any closer to being able to articulate what is wrong. One night, his grip on her is tight enough that Sen knows he is grasping for the passion they seem to have lost somewhere along the way. Unbalancing himself in a wordless compromise, Kazama pulls Sen down atop him, and she surrenders instinctively to his touch. Consciously or otherwise, he has learned to dominate from a submissive position.

As soon as that bodily realization takes hold, Sen's sensuality becomes defensive, her energies surfacing again in time for her to retake control. Only in the face of his challenge can she muster an adequate response, enough to make Kazama curse under his breath, more than enough to ensure her own satisfaction. But they are no longer accustomed to engaging one another on such a level. They must lie side by side a good deal longer than usual before they can catch their breath.

"I'm… not _trying_ to make you miserable, Sen," says Kazama, his voice a mumble in the afterglow. He is stroking her skin in idle circles Sen can almost believe are affectionate: bewildered, reserved, an echo of her own sentiment weeks ago. It is the closest to a genuine apology that Sen has ever received, and she gives in to the sudden urge to kiss him once more, although he barely reacts. His thoughts, like hers, have strayed far from their bed.

The next day dawns gray and rainy, and Sen's thoughts remain restless as the drops on the roof all day. Yesterday evening taught her that something has shifted between them, again, yet she still does not know what. She is confident that her own feelings have nothing to do with it, and she doubts Kazama's heart of hearts can be so easily touched, either; more likely, it is an unforeseen consequence of their modified arrangement.

Closing her audience hall a few hours early, Sen takes up an old parasol and departs for her favorite trail. Her parasol has a few holes in it, and the rain finds a way through them, but she has had it since she was a child, and it brings comfort to her—pale pink petals among the darker tones of red and gold all around her.

The light beneath the trees is dim, every shade of autumn dark but vivid, and Sen feels herself relaxing. Ever since her marriage to Kazama, she has not been able to find the time or energy to venture outside the village. How could she have forgotten the sense of unity binding her to her surroundings, her past? Long ago, Suzuka Gozen might have looked up at the sky just like this. No matter how the world may change, at its core, it will always be the same.

Hours pass, and Sen's joints grow stiff from the cold, but she continues wandering through her forest as if in a dream, lost in thought. In accordance with the universal pattern, her relationship with Kazama seems to be changing. However, in their hearts, they and their feelings toward one another—or perhaps lack thereof—have remained the same. And since nothing external has happened to affect their dynamic, the catalyst must lie somewhere in their current behavior. It stands to reason that the answer she seeks is probably right before her…

"There you are," says Kazama's voice, and Sen starts. "I've been looking for you for some time."

Sen struggles to comprehend. "You have?" is all she can say, faintly, and clears her throat. Why would Kazama bother himself with finding her personally when he could just as easily have sent someone in search of her?

"I couldn't care less what you do on your own time," says Kazama. "However, there is a difference between taking a walk to clear your head and disappearing for hours on end. I drew the line when you decided to skip dinner." He slips his hands into his sleeves, glancing back down the path. "I didn't feel like eating by myself, so I volunteered to go find you."

"I'm not hungry."

"Your hunger, or lack thereof, is beside the point," says Kazama, taking a few measured steps forward. "The servants are concerned, and with good reason. If you've been outside this entire time, you're going to catch a chill if you stay out here any longer—demon blood be damned."

Sen sighs. She knows her peaceful solitude has ended; even if she were to insist on staying outside, Kazama has shattered her momentary illusion of calm. "If you insist, Kazama-san."

The journey back home is much swifter than Sen anticipated, but then, she has always found that Kazama is capable of bringing a sense of urgency to even the most unhurried situation. A few minutes later, and even fewer words to a servant, and they sit beside a fire merrier than either of the two of them.

"That kimono doesn't suit you," says Kazama, almost as soon as he closes the door after them, and Sen seats herself by the fire pit in a hurry. Only now that she sits in a warm, dry room does she realize how cold and damp she really is. "Take it off." Sen narrows her eyes; she had intended to do so already, but his grin makes her apprehensive. "Go on. Fewer layers mean you'll dry off faster, and you know it. I've told you once before that there is no reason for you to be shy."

Meeting his eyes in a challenge, Sen undoes her obi and removes her outer layer, relaxing into the flood of gentle warmth that washes over her. However, she tenses again as she realizes that Kazama has moved silently closer. "That's better," he murmurs, leaning in, but she cannot discern his intention. If he means to _unnerve_ her, he is doing a fantastic job.

"Have a little patience," says Sen, shifting in place somewhat nervously, but sits her ground in a way she hopes is dignified. "I'd have decided to undress on my own once I got more comfortable—!"

The end of her sentence is muffled by Kazama's lips. He is not listening. Again. Sen's reaction is delayed from the shock, but her body shoves him away, her fingers curling themselves into fists.

"Make up your mind," mutters Kazama, eyeing her almost suspiciously, as though she has betrayed him somehow.

"My mind _is_ made up," retorts Sen, hugging her arms to herself, and shoots Kazama a mistrustful glare out the corner of her eye. "It has been from the beginning, and it isn't about to change now."

"Every time you make the first moves, which I'd like to remind you is _always_ , it begins with a kiss," growls Kazama, stung. "Forgive me if I assumed I should do the same. I didn't know the gesture offended you so."

Letting out a brief sigh, Sen tries to keep her expression from softening as she gathers her thoughts, but she cannot help but think that Kazama's attempt to learn by imitating her own patterns is almost endearing. Nor can she help but forgive him his unintentional trespasses.

Still, Sen knows she must reestablish the meaning of consent now, or he will never learn. "It is not the _gesture_ that offends me," she says, trying valiantly to maintain her patience, but Kazama does not allow her to continue that it is his timing before smirking and kissing her again.

Sen's retaliatory bite is instinctive, but the twinge of regret as she registers what she has done surprises her. Kazama rubs his mouth resentfully, his glare enough to freeze her blood. But upon closer inspection, it appears more reflexive and defensive than genuinely angry, almost as though he'd expected rejection. "I was under the impression that you sought to _avoid_ inducing my true form a second time," snaps Sen.

"Are you truly that angry?"

"Perhaps I am," shoots back Sen. "Not that it matters. _You_ never care. You have always done whatever you want, with no regard for how I feel."

Kazama's eyes harden. "Then let's settle this, clan leader to clan leader. Each of us will have the right to speak for as long as we can hold one another down, using as much or as little strength as is required for the task. I have no intention of taking advantage of you," he adds exasperatedly, seeing Sen's expression. "I only think it would lighten up another dull argument, and… you've seemed listless ever since you got the news."

Sen blinks in surprise. Ordinarily, Kazama might have made more specific reference to what that news entailed, but his self-control—possibly unconscious—is a pleasant surprise. _I'm not trying to make you miserable_ , his voice echoes in her head, soft and genuine, and she nods hesitantly. Maybe he really is attempting to make a better impression, even if his behavior has backslid somewhat over the past several days.

"You go first," Kazama invites her, spreading his arms.

Apprehensively, Sen moves forward to push him down. "I need you to start thinking before you act," she says, mustering as much authority as she can, but is unable to meet his eyes. "Our disagreements may have lessened these days, but you still have a habit of rushing ahead based on your own intuition."

Kazama rolls her over suddenly, almost before the last word leaves her mouth, and Sen feels some of the breath leave her body by force. " _But_ my intuition is also correct most of the time," he says, and she tenses in preparation to throw him off, but he slides his hand across her mouth. "And the few times it is not, I am open to learning from my mistakes."

Sen pushes Kazama aside and clambers atop him to make her retort. "Still, you take me and my consent for granted. Even after I amended our schedule to include the freedom to deny one another, still you assume each time we meet that I will share your bed. I can see it in your eyes."

"Whatever you see in my eyes is irrelevant, so long as I do not act on it," returns Kazama, rolling Sen over. "I am not ashamed of what I feel, so I make no effort to conceal my thoughts. And regardless of whether I take your consent as a given, I have never insisted that you owe me anything. In fact, I've had a great deal of patience with you and your changeable moods—!"

"I am no more changeable than _you_ are, Kazama-san," snaps Sen, relishing his grunt as her reversal takes him by surprise. "Although you seem less fundamentally displeased with our marriage these days, your reactions to everything I do and say are still unpredictable. That makes it very difficult to either discern or sate your true desires."

"Have you considered that…" begins Kazama furiously, but Sen silences him the first way that comes to mind. She bends down to kiss him, the same way he kissed her—so aggressively she can almost imagine tasting blood. Something inside her reignites, a piece falling into place, but she is too angry to feel it clearly. Or perhaps the feeling itself _is_ anger. She only knows that something has changed again.

As soon as she breaks away for breath, Kazama throws Sen aside. "If you say I do not think enough, I say _you_ think too much," he growls, eyes flashing gold. The distance between them has lessened, she notices fleetingly; his body is now only inches above hers. "You're reading into things. I have been perfectly honest about what I want from you, just as you requested."

Though Sen struggles, opening her mouth in preparation to counter him, Kazama's grip on her tightens, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I know you feel it too, Sen. The more we try to establish peace, the more we miss the war we fought to get here. I know you still hate me, but you're so obsessed with your idea of harmony, you refuse to let yourself show it."

Sen has not consciously buried any conflict, but Kazama's words brush against a splinter lodged firmly in her heart, and she flinches. Perhaps she initiated their truce before their emotions had run their course. Perhaps, buried beneath the foundation of her plan, there is still an argument left unfinished, or possibly never even started. All their communication is meaningless if they ignore that lingering unease, but…

Smothered by the truth, suffocating, Sen lashes out and shoves him away, feeling the knot in her core uncoiling. "N-no," she says, scrambling aside to pin Kazama down with all her weight, but her heart races uncomfortably in the signal of a desperate lie. "Something has _always_ been missing. And I have never hated you." That much, at least, is true.

"That is not what I'm talking about, and you know it," says Kazama, cold and confident as ever, and Sen's heart flares in something more than anger again. Her demon form is closer to the surface than it has been in a month, and the realization almost stops her heart. The intensity of her own defensiveness startles her, a nameless panic rising in her chest, but Kazama's next words shake her to her soul: "Give in."

Sen gasps as he lunges up suddenly and slams her into the ground, her demonic strength surging forth as he forces her onto the defensive. Pain flashes across her forehead as her horns manifest, and her eyes burn as her hair turns white in her peripheral vision. Much good it does her; she cannot hope to overpower him physically.

As Kazama comes back into focus above her, his eyes, too, glow golden, his hair white, four perfectly smooth horns curving out of his forehead. "That's better," he says once more, but his words are more serious now, heavier. "This is what, and who, you really are. If you are not even honest with yourself, how can you expect me to understand what you want?"

" _How dare you_ ," hisses Sen, flipping him over, and her fingers find his throat. "I have never lied to you—not once. You have forced me to be more honest than I have ever wanted to be, long before I was ready to face the truth." And now is no exception. Why must he point out a problem if he does not mean to offer a solution?

Kazama grasps her wrists and holds them up between them, sitting up beneath her, but does not use them as leverage to take charge. "I never said you lied to _me_ ," he says, his voice low in his throat, and a pulse of unexpected pleasure shudders through Sen's body as she feels that he is ready for more. (When did she become so sensitive to his touch?) "But I've noticed that the more tightly you cling to control, the less satisfied you really are in the end. Let go."

His calm tone and even voice are such a stark contrast to the aura of intensity surrounding his demon form that it sets Sen's hair on end. She braces herself to be overthrown, to struggle against him, to tell him not to break his promise… but instead, Kazama lies back, pulling her forward to arch over him. Deep behind his golden eyes, fierce and fiery, Sen notices genuine concern for the first time, and her breath catches.

This is not a decision motivated by lust or anger, but by cool and rational assessment. Kazama's dispassionate self-discipline is proof enough that he truly believes this is the best solution. The final choice is up to her, and Sen is grateful for it, but finds herself at a loss all the same. Her senses are too far heightened for her to refuse to share her bed outright, yet the very idea of initiating the same dance as ever is wearying.

Perhaps… Kazama is right.

Sen hesitates, deliberates, her husband barely breathing beneath her. This problem may have other solutions, but she cannot possibly think of any in this haze of confusion. It seems that despite all her efforts, their condition is improving too slowly under her sole guidance, even considering Kazama's input. Of herself and her marriage, Sen is recognizing more and more that she can prioritize only one, and in her heart she knows which it must be.

Yet even now, so close to an epiphany, she has never been more terrified of giving up control, of being proven wrong about her own desires. But in the moment, Sen's frustration outweighs her fear; nothing else seems to matter except numbing herself. Taking Kazama's hands in shaking fingers, Sen rolls to the side, guiding him over her. "Persuade me," she says, her voice barely above a breath. "Show me it will be worth my while to let you take the reins."

"Sen," breathes Kazama, uncomprehending, and the edges of his irises begin fading into red. "Are you sure?"

What makes him say it, give her the chance to back out? She can see in the flicker of a frown across his face, the attempt to bite his tongue, that he does not understand either. Assuring her consent has become instinctive, and that in itself is enough to encourage Sen that she has chosen correctly. "Yes, Kazama-san," says Sen breathlessly. "But _only_ because you asked."

Kazama opens his mouth as if about to say something, but thinks better of it for once, his body relaxing in a motion too sudden to be intentional. As his body lowers to brush against Sen's, his horns shrink back into his head, hair darkening to blond. Sen realizes that her own power, too, has seeped back into her heart. Even during their very first night together, she has always felt a strange desire to follow, to let him sweep her up in his tide.

But Sen returns to the present abruptly as Kazama parts her lapels, and she gasps at the force of his passion as he bends to kiss her neck ravenously. The decision itself may have been made objectively, but she can feel for herself that his lust has hardly lessened.

It takes a moment, but Kazama pulls back; Sen can see in his face the effort it takes him to check on her. His eyes are trained on her face, watching her reactions closely. "You're trembling," he observes, his words slurring. He clasps her hand in his as an afterthought, but it only makes Sen shudder more.

"I… I'm cold." Another half-lie, transparent at best. They have moved some distance from the fire, and Sen never got the chance to fully dry off, but she and Kazama both know that she is shivering for an entirely different reason.

"Then I will keep you warm." Kazama's eyes linger on Sen's face almost cautiously, as if asking her for further permission, and she musters the strength to nod. She may be unable to give voice to her consent, but agreement is all they need for now. Until Sen can shelve her pride and fear long enough to use her words, tacit agreement will have to be enough.

Kazama lets her up, kneeling over her as he extricates himself expertly from his kimono and tabi. Mesmerized by his motions, Sen lies uncertainly on her back for some time before convincing herself to slip her arms out of her sleeves. As Kazama lowers himself over her again, Sen reaches toward him, fingers trembling. He relocates one of her hands to his shoulder to give her an anchor, but his touch is far from steady, itself, and then his hand brushes down her belly—

Sen's breath catches again, although she does not know why. This is not the first time Kazama's fingers have established the first electric contact between them, a miniature thunderstorm. She can see in his eyes that he is guessing, taking hints based on her reactions, but he could not be succeeding more completely. By beginning with the familiar in the first several minutes, he eases her more completely into the new.

Still, his impatience gets the better of him before long. Readjusting Sen's legs slowly, carefully, Kazama moves forward and down. Discreetly, he glances down until they are one, overlapping as completely as they can—and then his eyes fix themselves on hers again. "Good?"

"Th-that remains to be seen," manages Sen, unable to tell from this odd mixture of heat and cold whether she is blushing or deathly pale. She hazards a guess at the former when Kazama rolls his eyes and withdraws.

And then, with the first thrust, it begins. The rhythm is similar to her own, yet markedly different. Steady, strangely gentle, tantalizing control just beyond her reach. Sen lies still for a time to learn his patterns, then cautiously moves against Kazama's body. Feebly at first, then more confidently as the minutes pass them by, measured only in the constant beat of rain and the crackling of the flames.

Now that her worries have been assuaged, Sen succumbs to shallower sentiments. As she flits in and out of lucidity, her eyes half-close, but she cannot take them off Kazama's face as he concentrates. She had thought he might run away with his pace, drunk on power, and never look back. Sen has never wanted to let him have his way with her for that very reason, but if _this_ is his way…

Kazama is clearly enjoying himself, but he keeps half an eye on her, always. He never stops altogether, but is capable of sensing Sen's discomfort, and silently readjusts their positioning more than once until her growing anxiety ebbs back into hesitant pleasure again.

Quicker now, more urgent, and a faint and meaningless sound escapes Sen's lips. Kazama exhales sharply, working all the harder to replicate the effect, but she is too self-conscious to indulge him, swallowing another moan rather than let him hear. Still, this in itself seems to be enough, and he slides to an unexpected halt. "Do you need more time?"

He speaks bluntly, his mood and condition equally as inscrutable, and Sen hesitates before shaking her head. Regardless of her own completion, she does not wish Kazama to stop now, and she knows better than to think he does either. "D-do what you will," she says, breathing hard. "You can always make it up a-after—!"

Kazama does not wait for her to finish the sentence, and the rest of Sen's breath is driven from her body in a faint sound of surprise that spurs him on further still. She can feel in the tension of Kazama's muscles, the determination in his movements as powerful and decisive as in any of his battles, that he is only barely holding himself back… that he is trying to take her with him. And, from what Sen has learned of herself, he is close to succeeding.

But then—just as the tension within is stretched almost taut, and she is panting for her release—he stops short. " _Sen_ ," hisses Kazama, her name from his mouth his first affirmation of her identity in his fantasies: she is no nameless mother to his future heir. As his breath brushes across her skin, she shivers and then freezes as the cold becomes searing heat. The faint flutter builds inside her body, amplifying until a single undulating motion possesses her.

Hips bucking up against Kazama's, Sen cannot suppress a breathless cry as everything comes together all at once. She is drowning, drinking in as much of him as she can take, much more powerful this time. A kind of strength to be found in surrender, as he finally found his own. Like Sen's own ambition, the power Kazama sought is not absolute, and this dominance is not synonymous with domination. She never lost control; she only relinquished her command.

Sen is _safe_.

By the time she becomes consciously aware of her surroundings again, Kazama is lying on his back a respectful distance away, smiling faintly at the ceiling. But his eyes are so faraway Sen suspects he is entirely unaware of this. In the light of the fire, there is a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. Neither of them care about one another any more than they ever have, but this evening heralds a level of understanding Sen never would have anticipated at the beginning of their partnership.

Bathed in firelight and storm winds, Sen's body and mind both feel pleasantly warm and heavy, and she can tell Kazama feels the same. His expression appears remarkably similar to their long-delayed wedding night. He has tasted something new, something incredible, and he seeks to soak in that sensation for as long as possible.

"Was it everything you imagined it would be?"

Sen's voice is hoarse, quiet, surprising even to her own ears. She was aware of the thought crossing her mind, but she did not intend to speak it aloud and disturb Kazama's reverie. After all, he has always taken time to process new developments, as he has said himself. Stirred out of his thoughts, Kazama pauses, considering the question seriously for several moments before he answers.

"No."

"Good," says Sen, smiling at him. "That should be enough to keep it from going to your head."

Turning his head to face her, Kazama smiles at her sideways. He seems entirely at ease, content, no emphasis on pride obstructing their interaction for once. "Do you regret not allowing me to take that position before tonight?"

Sen purses her lips. Tonight was only possible because of their past arguments and power plays. She has little doubt that her worst fears would have come true had she ceded control any sooner. "No."

Kazama lets out a single chuckle. "I see," he remarks, sitting up slowly in preparation to get up, and reaches for his clothing. "I don't blame you."

Sen's heart skips a beat she does not understand, and she frowns. Maybe Kazama is simply feeling more charitable in the afterglow, as is usual for him, but any acknowledgment that he understands her perspective is unheard of. She half wants to tell him not to leave yet, if only so she can inquire about his peculiar generosity, but holds her tongue. This is best left on an amicable note, to set a precedent going forward.

As he finishes pulling on his kimono, Kazama examines her countenance, the corner of his mouth turning up in another smile as he watches her try to work out his motivation. "I believe it may be appreciated if I bathed before showing my face in the dining hall," he says, dryly amused, but his voice is somewhat softer than usual. "I'll see you afterwards, at dinner. But if you wish, you may accompany me in the meantime."

Sen returns his smile, but shakes her head all the same. She knows very well what he is suggesting, but a second round is one step she is not yet ready to take. She too must inscribe this night into her memory. "I'll see you at dinner, Kazama-san," she murmurs instead, and turns her eyes thoughtfully to the fire.


	8. brushstrokes

"Good morning," greets Kazama, striding into the commons with a newfound spring in his step.

Amagiri blinks in apparent surprise, glancing up from his book, and dips his head in his usual gesture of reluctant respect. "Good morning, Kazama," he says, his tone guarded, as he looks up again with a question in his eyes. It has been quite some time since they have spoken directly, after all. "You seem… in unusually high spirits."

"I am," returns Kazama, glancing around. Sen normally spends some time here prior to breakfast, greeting and inspiring her staff, but today she is notably absent. "Speaking of which—have you seen my wife?"

An inscrutable expression flits across Amagiri's face, his brow twitching in a frown. "I have… not yet had the pleasure today."

Kazama pauses, searching Amagiri's face, but he seems intent on avoiding his gaze. That, and his phrasing, is more than enough to suggest that he is hiding something. "Sulking like this isn't like you, Amagiri," remarks Kazama, crossing his arms. "Had you been looking for her?"

Amagiri hesitates; there is something unusually restless about his mannerisms, something awkward in his countenance. "Yes. However, I was unable to find her, and thought better of it before long regardless." Sensing Kazama's question, his eyes and voice turn cold and sharp before Kazama can speak. "With all due respect, Kazama, this matter does not concern you."

"Whatever you have to say to her, you may say to me," says Kazama, crossing his arms and looking Amagiri up and down with some suspicion. "I am her husband, you know, and I am capable of taking a message."

Amagiri narrows his eyes, but inclines his head. He knows this is an order. "I… noticed that Kikuzuki-san returned from her mission some weeks ago, only to depart again immediately," he says, his voice edged with a sigh of resignation, and Kazama frowns in confusion before realizing that 'Kikuzuki' must be Kimigiku's real name. (How _Amagiri_ knows it is a mystery, but that is unimportant right now.) "I had been wondering when she was set to return again, and whether she is likely to stay."

"I have no idea," says Kazama. "She only came back to retrieve some others of her clan, and then departed again."

Amagiri lets out a short sigh of subdued disappointment. "I cannot say I am much surprised," he says, shifting in place uncomfortably—a rare sight indeed, as his stance is usually solid. "These are troubled times even for demons, and each of us has a part to play in resolving them. She is no exception."

Kazama quirks an eyebrow. "Kimigiku must be very important to you, if you intended to ask Sen a question as simple as that. What is your connection to that woman?"

"I have none," says Amagiri, shaking his head, but there is a hesitation in his voice that suggests there is more to his statement than meets the eye. Given his behavior, there is only one possibility, and Kazama cannot help but chuckle. How long has this been going on, while he was too blinded by Sen to see it?

"Are you _courting_ her, Amagiri?"

Amagiri tenses. "I… not yet, no," he says stiffly. "I have not expressed my intentions to Kikuzuki-san, nor do I plan on doing so until I have a fairer chance of acceptance. That is part of why I wish to speak with the Princess."

Kazama's lips curl into a derisive grin. "I'm surprised at you, Amagiri. Wasn't Shiranui just saying Kimigiku is a favorite _companion_ of his?" Of course, technically speaking, the match Amagiri seeks is an acceptable one. They are the leaders of their respective clans, subservient to larger and more prestigious families. However, his intentions are overgenerous: Kimigiku has associated far too intimately with humans, in far too intimate ways, to be a prudent choice of wife.

"That is _not_ what he said," says Amagiri, his ordinarily even temper somewhat shorter than usual, and gets to his feet. "Do not think me ignorant of either his position or mine, Kazama. I have only resolved to act in my clan's best interests."

"Is that why you are still here?" asks Kazama, leaning against the wall. Aside from a few superficial interactions and keeping the peace with the local townsfolk, Amagiri has kept to the sidelines throughout their stay in Yase. Truthfully, Kazama has no idea why he has chosen to follow him when he could just as easily have stayed home. But now…

Amagiri inclines his head in an affirmative. "I spent more than enough time at your side during the humans' war to justify remaining in my village," he says, his voice full of subtle disapproval—closer to outright insolence than he has ever come before. "Others of your vassals could have accompanied you to Yase in my stead. However…" Amagiri pauses to gather his thoughts. "I could not, in good conscience, have stayed home. Not while my duty to my own clan is as yet unfulfilled."

"As are _you_ , I imagine," mutters Kazama under his breath. Amagiri's eyes flash blue fire briefly, but he keeps stonily silent. He has never been the kind of man to openly acknowledge that he has heard anything not meant for his ears. "I have no intention of delivering a message this ridiculous, so you had better bore Sen with the details after all. But she already has much to consider at the moment, as does Kimigiku. I'd advise waiting until her mission is over altogether before you add to that burden."

Kimigiku is invaluable to Sen on an administrative level as well as personally. Neither she nor Kazama can afford to allow such a crucial agent to leave her position until after the current impending crisis is resolved. Doubtless Amagiri already understands that Kimigiku's work takes first priority, but explaining the exact circumstances that prevent the match is impossible. Though Amagiri does not respond in words, he bows very briefly and brushes through the doorway to take his leave.

After deliberating for a moment, Kazama turns his feet toward the dining hall. If Sen has not appeared, it is most likely because she is deep in thought, and he knows by now not to interrupt her. Or maybe she is daydreaming about last night, he flatters himself, and waits.

Once served, Kazama eats his breakfast alone, his head in the clouds. Something inside him has changed since yesterday, but he cannot put his finger on what. Although still nameless, this is certainly a more pleasant shift than his frustrations over the previous several weeks. He senses a strange warmth and weakness deep within, like he has reached the climax resulting from a different kind of work.

In surrendering, Sen gave Kazama the freedom to be all sides of himself at once if he so chose. And in so doing, she uncovered a part of himself he never knew existed. It is closest in nature to the smoke in his lungs, yet the man he becomes under the influence of opium is too idle, too passive. The self Sen showed him is just as receptive to her beauty, but more alert and active, almost ambitious, in his pursuit of pleasure. But one thing still troubles him: when did it start feeling so natural for him to acknowledge her attractiveness?

Drawing himself out of his meandering thoughts, Kazama gets up, stretches, and makes his way to Sen's room. He has no proof, but something tells him that Sen may still be lying abed. Kazama may not have any trouble falling asleep last night, but he suspects it may have been different for her. And if that is so…

Entering Sen's room without announcing himself, Kazama discovers to his satisfaction that he is right. However, though he intends to awaken her, he hesitates, eyes lingering on her face. His wife is beautiful, even in slumber, or perhaps because of it. Now, Kazama can admire Sen freely, no artificial courage required; now, she does not turn away from him or scowl under his gaze. She only lies there peacefully, chest rising and falling in deep even breaths, oblivious to the world outside her futon. And to her own loveliness.

… _No_. Shaking loose his shallow reflections, Kazama may have come to terms with her appearance, but now is not the time to wax poetic. Kneeling next to her, he reaches over to rest his hand on her shoulder, but—"I suppose this is retribution for my intrusion a few weeks ago," mumbles Sen, a faint stirring the first hint he has of her wakefulness before she opens her eyes. "Good morning, Kazama-san. What do you want with me at this hour?"

Kazama does not know how to answer, beyond having been curious about her whereabouts, so he changes the subject. " _This hour_ is much later than usual for you. Did you find last night so exhausting?"

"Not especially," replies Sen, turning pink. "Rather, I awakened too early, and then chose to go back to sleep." She seems to be having trouble looking Kazama in the eye, and he smiles. "What are you smirking about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," responds Kazama, grin widening as her eyes spark, more rose than amber in the sunlight. "I simply find it amusing that we have been sharing a bed for months, yet only now you decide you cannot meet my eyes."

Perhaps to spite him, Sen looks him full in the face. "You know very well why that is."

"Because I made you feel something," says Kazama. "Do you resent that?"

After a brief hesitation, Sen shakes her head. "I might have, once. But… not anymore. I…" She pauses again, fixing her eyes firmly on the ceiling, and takes a shallow breath. "I saw for myself the effort you made for my sake. If you can maintain that standard going forward, and if you believe the work to be worthwhile, then… far be it from me to insist on doing everything myself."

"Then on the nights we decide to engage, we must also choose which of us is in control," says Kazama. "I hope you're ready for more power struggles, because I have no intention of surrendering so easily anymore. Not now that I know what I have been missing."

To his great surprise, Sen only smiles. "I think we both know, after last night, that the occasional quarrel isn't such a bad thing after all. As long as we keep it confined to one of our beds. And if dominance is the only thing we fight about anymore, Kazama-san," she adds, sitting up at last, "we should consider ourselves lucky."

Kazama shakes his head. "Dominance has _always_ been the only thing we've fought about. All our other arguments can be traced back to this in some way. Therefore, now that you have permitted me to have my equal share, I doubt I'll have as many complaints in other areas."

Sen heaves a sigh, but Kazama can see her smile through it. "We shall see, my husband," is all she says, sitting up at last, and stretches luxuriously. "We know one another well enough by now to know that if anything else does divide us, it will not be a quiet disagreement."

Though Kazama half expects Sen's words to prove prophetic, the days melt quickly into another month of autumn, this time passing in a blur of something like contentment. Even another several days of mood swings and necessary distance as Sen's cycle begins anew is not enough to dampen Kazama's spirits entirely, although he is somewhat disappointed that all their efforts have thus far been for naught.

Yet, so gradually he had not noticed his shift in attitude until now, Kazama has begun to consciously understand that the destination is _not_ the only thing worth savoring. Sen had even tried to tell him so at the beginning of their marriage, insisting that he recognize her attractiveness for what it was instead of pretending to think only of their duty, but his pride interfered. Thankfully, it seems that his reluctance to admit that she could make him feel anything has lessened now that he has been allowed to exercise the same power over her.

In fact, more often than not, Kazama finds himself looking forward to his nights with Sen for their own sake, rather than simply because they are a part of his duty. In a way, he is almost grateful that they have another month to themselves before they might need to consider adding another variable into the mix, just as Amagiri and Shiranui had mentioned. Given that Kazama and Sen have only just made some semblance of peace, and given Yase's precarious condition, it would be inadvisable to readjust a stride they have only just hit.

Shiranui's other warning, however, still echoes in his mind: the Kazama family's displeasure with his choice of wife. Kazama has still not heard anything from his father on this matter, but more and more, he has begun to notice the undertones of displeasure in letters past. Initially, he had thought that they related only to his refusal to respond, and to his absence from home. However, he has come to understand that they have as much to do with the _reason_ for his absence—his marriage to Sen—as his unavailability.

But how long has it been since Kazama received one of his father's written scoldings? Much longer than it has been in between the past few installments of his indignation. It must be several weeks, now. With his former conflict with Sen now laid to rest, Kazama's most prominent unease now stems from his father's sudden silence—a source he never could have anticipated, given how irritating he always found his persistence. But it isn't like _Lord_ Kazama to give up, or to let any of his sons have the last word. Something must have happened.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Kazama gets his unspoken and unthought wish within a few nights of first taking note of his father's peculiar lack of lectures.

"You," observes Kazama, stopping short in the hallway as he encounters an unexpected obstacle. _Hiroaki_. Although they spend a similar amount of time around Sen, given their respective roles in the palace, their paths have not intersected very often, and they have never held a conversation. Perhaps that is by Sen's design, although over the past several weeks, Kazama's insecurities have lessened enough to accommodate Hiroaki's existence. Sen speaks little of him, and Kazama sees little of him. Why, then, has he gone out of his way to stand before him now…?

Now that the haze of jealousy is gone, Kazama can examine the boy with unclouded sight, and ironically, his observations now might have served to bolster his self-assurance in the beginning. Even in the warm glow of lamplight, Hiroaki's skin is pale and mottled in places, his dark hair tied up in a haphazard ponytail. His eyes—a dull blue-gray, like the evening sky just after a storm—do not meet Kazama's, darting quickly about the hall as though looking for a hiding place or an escape route.

At length, Hiroaki clears his throat. "Y-yes, sir," he says uncertainly, his voice high and quiet and somewhat hoarse. Such softness is more befitting of a prey animal than a demon, thinks Kazama scornfully; a direct assistant to the Princess of Yase should carry himself with more confidence. "My sister and I went into town today to fetch the mail, so the Princess instructed me to bring you this letter. I…" He proffers a scroll, bowing his head deferentially. "I believe it is from from your hometown, Kazama-sama."

Kazama recoils as his father's stern face flashes across his mind, as if burnt into his memory, and his lip tugs up in an automatic snarl. "Don't call me that."

Hiroaki stumbles back a step, his eyes widening in a mixture of alarm, horror, and confusion, and almost drops the letter. "I—I'm sorry, Kazama…" More than his apology, the boy's panic as he tries to come up with a suitable alternative is entertaining enough to induce his forgiveness. "K-Kazama- _dono_!"

Nodding shortly, Kazama takes a step forward. Unconventional, and perhaps less respectful than he deserves, but better by far than the name his father insists on. Plucking the scroll from Hiroaki's loosened grasp, Kazama reads the exterior: _to my son and heir_. The handwriting is neat as ever, but the slightest bit shaky. This is an unusual opening, coming from his father. For all his insistence that his son learn to lead, he never liked to admit, even obliquely, that his own reign might someday end.

Bowing lower still as he backs away, Hiroaki turns stiffly and flees down the hall. Smiling faintly as he can practically smell the boy's terror, Kazama strides after him, then branches off toward his own room. Not that he ever looks forward to hearing from his father, but something about his handwriting combined with his wording tells Kazama that these are not glad tidings.

As soon as he shuts the door to his room, he opens the letter and reads. To his surprise and suspicion, the note is very short compared to his father's usual pointless ramblings. _Chikage_ , it begins, not in his spidery handwriting. _I dictate this letter through your stepmother in the vain hope that if you will not listen to me, you will listen to her._

 _You seem to be laboring under the delusion that power is a choice that you have not yet made. This is not so. Your position is an influential one, whether you like it or not, and it is vital that you learn to use that title to its fullest potential. Furthermore, while you have made it clear that you would prefer to cast aside your birthright, you still insist on producing an 'heir'. I ask you this: if you absolve yourself of all responsibility to lead the Kazama clan, then what will your child inherit, apart from your own obstinacy and ignorance?_

 _I have summoned you home time and again, and through each day of silence I grow older and wearier. There are more than a few life lessons I cannot convey via letter, and I must know that you will at least hear me out in the time we have left. I have no intention of restricting your precious freedom, and I doubt anyone could force you to cooperate; I wish only to see my son again, and pass on what wisdom I can._

 _This is the last message I will send. I pray you return soon._

Kazama lets out a long sigh, letting his hand drop to his side, as the ground seems to drop out from under him. The content of this letter is not new—simply a reiteration of sentiments long held—but the phrasing is troubling. His father has suffered from respiratory illness for some years, and it has only been getting worse with time, but he has never once acknowledged it. But now… if he has finally seen fit to use such ominous phrasing, he may have sensed that the end is approaching.

Indeed, the sense of resignation his father's words convey is unprecedented, and therefore unnerving. Contrary to the implications of his opening statement, Kazama's father knows better than to think his son would ever willingly listen to his stepmother. The only reason he would have delegated a task like this is if he has grown too weak, either in body or will, to write the letter himself. Something _is_ wrong, after all.

And, as Kazama's turbulent thoughts settle and then solidify into a single path, he understands that he has no choice save to go. Sudden as this news may be, he must return to his village as soon as possible—if only to assess the situation with more clarity. He can expect no further elaboration from his father, and depending on the severity of his condition, he may not be able to offer any. Besides that, family is family, no matter how impersonal Kazama's relationship with them may be. If his father's health is deteriorating, he can dodge his duty as son no longer.

Taking a moment to muster his determination, Kazama forces himself to acknowledge and accept his own unpreparedness. Given his father's denial, he had no way of knowing how far advanced the illness truly was, especially as none of his previous summons hinted at having had such a reason. He supposes he should have anticipated this, but he has been preoccupied with finding his place in Yase. More than that, having avoided thinking about his family and their ridiculous expectations, he blinded himself to any subtler sense of urgency his father might have been conveyed. Now, it may be too late.

After a few more deep breaths, Kazama makes his way to Sen's room swiftly. If she received any messages today, she will undoubtedly be answering them at this time. Sure enough, her voice answers to Kazama's brief announcement of his presence: "Kazama-san," she greets him, glancing back at him as he closes the door quietly behind him. "It seems that today has brought news for the both of us."

"What's yours?"

"Please, tells me yours first," says Sen, gesturing for him to sit, and Kazama grudgingly obeys. "I sense that yours may be graver, so mine may serve as some small comfort afterwards."

Kazama narrows his eyes, then reluctantly inclines his head. "As you know, my father has sent another message," he says, holding up the note. It still does not feel quite real, as though it might vanish from his grasp at any moment. "He dictated this letter to my stepmother, and writes to hasten my return. My father's health has been declining for some time, and now… he may be dying. It would be best for me to hurry home."

Setting down her brush, Sen looks at him seriously, scrutinizing his expression. "And dare I ask what your feelings about this development are?"

"Feelings?" echoes Kazama, frowning. "I have none to speak of, but they are irrelevant in any case. I must go."

Sen does not look convinced, but does not press the matter. Instead, her response is immediate, disarming: "I will come with you."

Kazama stares at her in shock. " _What_?"

"I will come with you," repeats Sen, a little more slowly, as though his problem is one of hearing. "I have never met your family, nor do you have any intention of telling me about them. If your father's condition is indeed so serious, this may be my only chance to introduce myself."

"But what about your duty to look after Yase?" demands Kazama. "According to our terms of marriage, neither of us have any influence over the other's people by default. Would you really abandon your own village at a time like this for the sake of taking an inferior position in mine?"

Sen only holds up a letter of her own. "That is where _my_ news comes into play. Okiku has sent her first conclusive report since her second departure. Although Yase is certainly not safe, and the extent of the discussions in the imperial court is still unknown, she writes with conviction that the humans have no immediate plans to act violently." She smiles somewhat sadly. "They still have the aftermath of their own war to consider, after all."

"Oh."

"Besides," continues Sen, ignoring Kazama's dissatisfaction, "even should the worst happen—heaven forbid—I am a great deal less experienced in matters of war than the vast majority of my vassals. A clan is more than its leader; we must trust in its people to uphold the order, even in our absence. In times of conflict, my presence is more a symbolic comfort than a practical one."

"But a comfort nonetheless."

Sen, predictably, sees through Kazama's remark. "Why is it that you are so insistent that I remain behind?" she asks, tilting her head. "If our relationship is still oriented exclusively around producing an heir to your family, all that should matter is that I am safe. And, if I stay with you, we can continue our… attempts."

Kazama takes a deep breath, searching for the right words. How he feels more strongly about Sen accompanying him than he does about his father's possible demise is beyond him, but he cannot help himself. Unfortunately, Sen is much more adept at fighting reason with emotion than he is. "Regardless of Yase's present situation, you know my family does not approve of you."

"They have not been given much of a chance to change their minds."

Kazama stares at Sen incredulously. Judging from her expression, she is serious. "Do you really think you can _change their minds_?"

"I think no such thing," says Sen matter-of-factly. "Rather, as I believe I've said, I think meeting them personally is as good a chance as I will ever have to make a good impression—or, failing that, the _right_ impression." She looks Kazama in the eye, unyielding. "Our child will be their heir, Kazama-san. Even considering current tensions, becoming better acquainted with your family is a priority."

Kazama lets out a long breath, shaking his head. He cannot think about this deeply enough while he is still mulling over the meaning of his father's latest letter. "If it means that much to you, I'll consider it."

"Then consider it well," says Sen. "I can see no downside. My making an effort to bridge the gap between our families could make all the difference in times of trouble. After all, your people may be somewhat more charitable if the people of Yase ever have need of somewhere to go."

"If you say so," mutters Kazama. "But I'll still need some time to think."

"Very well," says Sen, returning her gaze to her own reply before her. "I leave the final decision in your hands. But I suggest you make it quickly."

Tucking his father's letter into his sleeve, Kazama takes his leave with light head and heavy heart. As he loses himself in thought, his feet do not take him back to his room, but rather to what has become his favorite courtyard during his stay in Yase. The night is chilly, almost more winter than autumn, and the sky is starless. The snows should come soon. But Kazama's thoughts are far from the weather; he has much else to contemplate.

On his own, he could escape into past identities to ease the transition. However, he has become another man in the time he has spent away from his family, and bringing Sen along means that he is trapped in that present. It feels impossible to both be the brother and son his family knows _and_ to be Sen's husband. Somehow, he must either unite all the fragments of his identity or decide which one to prioritize. And to complicate matters still further, Kazama very much doubts that Sen will change his family's minds about her at all. If anything, she will confirm their low opinion of her simply by being her own indomitable self.

Kazama barely remembers returning to his room, but he must have at some point, as he becomes conscious of his own walls around him. Lying motionless and awake in his bed, he studies the ceiling through tired but sleepless eyes, mulling over potential solutions. And, to his astonishment, he finds one almost immediately. Perhaps it is because he has exhausted all his doubts, but upon closer examination of his family's disapproval, he discovers a subtler kind of satisfaction or even excitement beneath all his unrest.

Sen is as powerful an ally as she is an enemy, so if any of his family members pick a fight with her, he will at last have a real excuse to side against them in his turn. And besides, Kazama has sworn to himself and Sen alike that he will not be the one to explain his past, and he knows better than to think curiosity as ardent as hers will cease on its own.

And just like that, the solution stands clear before him, revealed with the same alarming suddenness as the news itself: perhaps it _would_ be more convenient if Sen could arrive at her own conclusions by accompanying him.

This thought provides consolation enough for Kazama to sink into slumber, but it seems as though he barely closed his eyes before he opens them again to find cold gray sunlight streaming into his room. It takes some time before he remembers why his thoughts feel so ponderous, and even longer to convince himself to move. But eventually, Kazama drags himself out of bed and over to his desk. A summons of that nature demands some warning before his arrival, especially given his previous silence.

 _Father_ , he begins. _Amagiri and I will return as soon as may be. We will depart two days from the time I send this letter, and proceed with all due haste._ He pauses, brush hovering over the inkwell, but sets it aside instead. Better not to tell his father that Sen will be joining them; it will only agitate him more.

Letter in hand, Kazama hastens to Amagiri's room and, upon being invited inside, finds his vassal turning to face him politely.

"I have reason to believe that my father's health is failing," announces Kazama, without pausing for pleasantries. "I will be returning home the day after tomorrow to see what can be done. And, fiancée or no fiancée, I request that you accompany me." Amagiri understands this is no mere request, but Kazama sees in his somber expression the same doubts that plagued him through the night.

"You are not the only one who has failed to meet your clan's expectations," points out Kazama, between exasperated and amused, after a pause. "And your mother cannot be harsher on you than my father will be on me. You've been the Amagiri clan leader for more than a decade now, and you _can_ put your foot down, you know."

But Amagiri only sighs. "There is little point in continuing this discussion, Kazama," he says, looking up at him again. "I have known where you stand on this matter for years. But I will accompany you, as is my duty."

Rather than respond, Kazama only nods and takes his leave. He must go to Sen and deliver his verdict before he thinks better of it.

By the time he reaches the dining hall, Sen is already almost done with her breakfast by the time he arrives. Seating himself across from her, he waits until she finishes her sip of tea to speak. "You may come," he says, and Sen freezes just before she puts her cup down. "We leave the day after tomorrow. Be ready."

"I take it this is not a decision you have made lightly."

"Not at all," says Kazama. "But if you are that fixated on coming along, and if you can guarantee Yase's safety in our absence, then it may be useful."

Sen inclines her head. "I can _guarantee_ nothing, but Hiroaki-kun and Okiku's families are more than capable of collaborating to manage my affairs. It has been that way for as long as this village has existed, whenever the ruling family is summoned elsewhere." Kazama only nods distractedly, picking at his breakfast, but cannot focus on the food. He cannot change his mind now, and though he knows he made the right decision, he hates the sensation of being trapped.

"Does your hometown have a name?"

It takes Kazama a moment to process Sen's question, and even then it means little to him. "Most of the townsfolk refer to it simply as 'the Kazama village'."

"What is it like?"

"If you intend to come with me, you'll find out."

Sen gives him a carefully measured look, more inquisitive than irritated. "I still don't understand why you shut down every time your past is mentioned."

"You may have gathered from our more trivial conversations that I have very few happy memories of my upbringing," says Kazama. "I prefer not to think about it, and therefore, I prefer not to talk about it. My reluctance has nothing to do with you."

"Then tell me what about it you find so hateful," retorts Sen. "Unhappy memories shape us just as much as happy ones, you know. Quite possibly, more so. I know you have informed me that your relationships with your family members are impersonal, but this is not _apathy_. This is active avoidance, and I would like to know why."

Sen is genuinely curious, and she has never been any better at letting sleeping dogs lie than he has. Kazama has little choice but to respond. "My father has never seen me as an individual, and my stepmother and half-brothers all distrust or even resent me," he says flatly. "Furthermore, I was confined to the village until well past my coming of age, and I also stayed there in the months prior to our wedding. I've had my fill of living among those who do not respect me."

Sen has the self-awareness to understand that he is also talking about her own past behavior, and lowers her gaze, but does not let the conversation end there. "Why… do they resent you?"

"I've never asked," says Kazama delicately. "But I suppose it is difficult for them to accept that I am pureblooded and they are not."

Sen nods hesitantly. "Yet you have no interest in the power you have been born into, and they have no hope of claiming it even in your absence," she murmurs. "I understand." Kazama opens his mouth to ask how she can possibly understand, but she senses his rebuttal and adds hastily, "I _mean_ that I understand why you don't want to go back. I assumed that you simply had no personal attachment to your family, but now I see why you have been so agitated." She lowers her eyes. "Forgive me."

As silence expands between them, Kazama frowns. How can Sen be satisfied with so little information? He had always thought that he would have to answer a multitude of uncomfortable questions as soon as they started talking about family. After all, she has told him most details of her own childhood even without being asked—her father's death before her birth, losing her mother in her youth, being raised by the council for lack of any close relatives…

Sen gives a wry smile. "Is this really cause for such astonishment?" she asks, quoting Kazama from long ago. "I am _curious_ about your family, but I have never intended to coerce you into revealing anything. All I needed was a brief explanation, which you have now given me." Smiling, she returns to her meal. "One step at a time, Kazama-san. I have no wish to force the issue. But, sometime before we arrive at your village, I _would_ like to know what exactly I have gotten myself into."

Kazama cannot suppress a chuckle at her phrasing. "Depending on my mood in the coming days, I may tell you more. But the first thing you should know is that in my village, a Kazama's word is law. You had best get used to that idea in the coming days."

Sen hesitates, then laughs. Good; she has learned to distinguish his humor from more serious sentiments. "We shall see, Kazama-san. Regardless of your family's expectations, I prefer to think of us as equals. Even your father, the illustrious Kazama- _sama_ , does not technically outrank me, even if he is several decades my senior."

"Then perhaps _they_ had best get used to _you_ ," says Kazama, smiling despite himself. "But I don't intend to give them any warning. Better that they find out what manner of demon you are in person; I doubt I could put it into words they'd understand in the meantime, and I'd rather give you the advantage of catching them off-guard."

Sen nods, then pauses. "Do you think… their opinion of you will change because of your connection to me?"

"Not for the better."

"Do they really hate me so much?"

Kazama hesitates. "They hate that you have drawn my attention away from my rightful place, and that you are to have some claim to our legacy. It is your status they despise, and you have little hope of persuading them that you do not intend to misuse it. You, yourself, are irrelevant to how they feel." Kazama crosses his arms as Sen opens her mouth. "Now, hold your tongue. I've told you more than enough for now."

Sen closes her mouth again, but he can see disagreement in her expression, stubborn and petulant. Still, she obeys for now, although he knows it is only a matter of time before she asks something else. Though the air between them feels tense throughout the rest of the day, the few words they exchange are distinct in nature from the biting tone of their usual arguments. If Kazama had caused Sen any real offense, she would not linger after dinner to pour him sake.

They do not speak the entire time it takes him to get through the first bottle, but Kazama finds himself admiring Sen's natural poise, more elegant than any of her geisha. He has not been able to focus on her exclusively since he received his father's letter; all his attention has been spent coming to terms with a change in plans and personas, and bracing himself for the time to come.

The first words that pass between them are Kazama's, almost an outburst, as his suspicions make themselves known. "Do you think me more likely to answer your questions if I am drunk?"

Sen hesitates, but shakes her head. "No, Kazama-san. But I know how you like your evening sake, and I have nothing better to do at present than serve you."

Her intention to seduce him out of his thoughts is as obvious as it is generous, but Kazama ignores it. His thoughts need time to loosen up before he can decide whether to accept her advances tonight. "I see," he says. "Then drink with me."

Sen bites her lip pensively. "I will have a cup for each of your bottles," she says, after a long pause. "My alcohol tolerance is… not especially high, so I have never much enjoyed drinking."

Kazama shrugs. "Your loss, then," he says, gesturing. "Pour. This next one is yours."

Sen takes his cup and drinks from it, and though she grimaces, she swallows properly. They have not drunk from the same cup like this since their wedding. Then, her eyes were frightened but resolute as she sipped at the sake, a flush spreading across her face that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Now, they are calmer, alight with curiosity, yet still she keeps her pretty mouth shut.

As they study one another in turns, the contents of the second bottle gradually disappear, and then a third. Waiting for Kazama to make the first move, Sen seems determined to be the picture of wifely obedience. Perhaps it is only the sake, but her impression of a lady is as amusing as it is accurate, given her barely subdued restlessness.

After he drains the last of the final bottle, Kazama finds his spirits sufficiently replenished for conversation. Sitting back with a sigh, he revels in the warmth spreading from his throat through his body to create a pleasant half-numb haze. He is not drunk by any means, but tipsy enough that, given Sen's valiant effort at patience and understanding, he feels _lenient_.

"Go ahead," says Kazama finally. "As a reward for behaving yourself, I'll talk about anything you like until I grow bored."

Sen frowns at his generosity, or perhaps at his phrasing, but has a question ready. "Takahiro is… one of your brothers, isn't he?"

"Yes. The second of three."

"You'd been writing to him about the situation here in Yase," continues Sen, her words the slightest bit indistinct. She, too, is feeling the effects of the alcohol. Maybe that will relax her enough that she doesn't pelt him with questions. "Are you on good terms with him? Or at least… better than the rest of your family?"

Kazama hesitates. "I don't know. I told you once that I was raised to be honest or be silent, and my brothers are no exception. Out of the four of us, Takahiro is the only one who prefers to be silent. He treats everyone, friend and foe, with the same distant courtesy. No one is ever sure what he truly thinks of them."

"Then… why did you intend to direct your letter to _him_?"

"Our clan does not have an information network comparable to yours in any way, but Takahiro fancies himself something of an agent all the same," says Kazama. "Just before I left to marry you, he requested that I tell him of any important developments during my stay here—most likely just so he can be the first to know."

Sen nods slowly. "How old is he?"

"Eighteen this year."

Sen raises her eyebrows. "A prodigy, then."

"He likes to think so," says Kazama, gauging the mood between them as he falls silent. Despite Sen's lack of insistence, he finds that he feels oddly compelled to give her just a little more, and indulges the impulse on a whim. "As does my stepmother."

Sen regards him with no small amount of surprise, but does not question Kazama's openness. She should know better than anyone that while his mind may not be easily changed, his behaviors are, especially when sake is involved. "Are you close to her?"

 _Close_? Kazama laughs at the very idea. "She loathes me. My very existence is a threat to her and hers. And to complicate matters, my father didn't remarry until I was almost a man, so I was… less impressionable than perhaps I might have been as a child. It couldn't have been more than a few months of living in the same house before she stopped trying." He shrugs. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no mother."

Sen swallows. "And your birth mother…?"

"Died giving birth to me."

Eyes widening, Sen drops her gaze immediately. "I'm sorry," she says, hanging her head—perhaps out of sake-augmented sympathy, or else shame at having asked such an obvious question. She may not have known the method of his mother's passing, but demons do not divorce like common humans. She must have known the possibilities were limited. "I didn't know."

Kazama shakes his head. "It happens. It may be rare among our kind, but it still happens. And it isn't as though I knew her."

"So…" Sen trails off awkwardly, struggling to find the right words, and Kazama resists the urge to smile. Her not-entirely-sober attempt at tactfully changing the subject is enough to keep him entertained for now, but all his good humor vanishes with her next words. "Your father raised you, then?"

"He tried," says Kazama shortly, after a brief hesitation. "But I don't think he succeeded. For as long as I can remember, his idea of parenting has always consisted of force-feeding me his ideals daily." He bites his tongue as more memories surge forth unexpectedly, carried on a tide of sake, and his heart beats faster in a warning. That is more than enough for now.

Thankfully, Sen catches his grimace and falls silent, though Kazama can still see the curiosity in her countenance. But she needn't know any more, he reasons, letting out a long breath. After all, what percentage is there in revealing that he essentially raised himself? Sen would undoubtedly offer him pity if she heard of his father's decree that, as a pureblooded demon, he should not associate with any lesser demons—including any of his nursemaids.

Yet Kazama does not think of his situation as particularly pitiable, past or present. Furthermore, he knows himself well enough to know that Sen's inevitable attempt to sympathize will only frustrate him, even if she means well. Most of the details of his upbringing have remained painstakingly buried for all the years since he first left home; there is little point in digging them up again just so Sen can examine them.

"Thank you," murmurs Sen, stirring Kazama out of his thoughts. "For telling me so much." She shifts closer to him, but he rises abruptly to avoid being caught in her spell. Sen has dislodged many more recollections with which Kazama must make his peace before their departure, and sake is distraction enough for one evening. Any additional sedatives, and he will no longer be able to process his thoughts at all.

(And besides, Kazama cannot deny a peculiar kind of satisfaction in seeing Sen so unfulfilled. It proves she needs him as much as he needs her, and he remains in control of the distance between them, however near or far.)

"Kazama-san," says Sen, rising as well, and there is a profound confusion in her eyes, almost distress. "Have I displeased you?"

But Kazama shakes his head. "I just need more time to think, and you have always been a detriment to my focus." And, ignoring Sen's glower as her plans for the evening are frustrated, Kazama sweeps out of the room. Until he can square his past with his present long enough to master the art of filial piety and propriety in his head, he cannot afford to lose himself entirely.

The next day is the last chance Kazama has to enjoy Yase until his return. Since the servants will pack for his journey, he spends his time wandering the palace grounds, mulling over how exactly he should present himself to his father now that he has spent so much time independent of his influence. Kazama- _sama_ , he thinks, and his resentment—so old it may as well be inborn—flickers back to life. Has his father ever considered that a part of his son's disinterest in ruling is an equal and opposite reaction to his own obsession with power?

But no, thinks Kazama, wrenching his mind away from his toxic thoughts. He should not be thinking of such petty complaints when his father's condition may be serious. However, despite his repeated attempts to turn his thoughts around, his anxiety only seems to build as the day progresses, until finally the sun has set and he finds himself laying out his traveling clothes for tomorrow. If his thoughts will not cooperate, thinks Kazama bitterly, _that_ at least is something tangible he can finish.

This is the first time he has touched his Western clothing in more than a year. In part because of his shift in thinking as well as allegiance, he had sworn never to don it again. However, if he must pass through areas under the humans' jurisdiction, it is best if he reminds them of his former rank among them. And besides, wearing this uniform demands a willingness to set aside his conventional values, to obey rather than command. It is fitting, he supposes, for a sudden and reluctant homecoming to a family that has never loved him, and that he has never loved.

There is no possibility that the fit will have changed, but he has the urge to try on his clothes anyway, and see if he can practice slipping into his old persona in so doing. Perhaps this is the key he has been missing, the way to blur the line between old and new. It takes him some time to remember the appropriate way to wear these garments, but Sen's voice does not interrupt him until he has finished pulling on his coat. "Kazama-san?"

It takes a moment to register his name in his consciousness, as though it does not belong to him anymore. The past couple days, spent thinking of so many other members of the clan, seem to have dislodged it from its rightful place. "Come in."

Sen opens the door, and there is a small pause before he hears the door slide shut again slowly—as though she has lost all strength somehow. "Ah," is all she says, apparently brought up short. However unusual that may be for her ordinarily, it is in keeping with her behavior today; she has seemed as lost in thought as Kazama, except for the times he caught her staring.

Kazama glances at her over his shoulder, buttoning his coat. "Do you need something?" But rather than respond, Sen hesitates, visibly wavers in place. It is unlike her to be so cautious these days; whatever news she brings must not be good. "If you have something to say, then say it or go."

Sen takes a deep breath. "You might not like it."

Kazama narrows his eyes. "I am in no mood to put up with your attempts at cushioning blows," he says, crossing his arms. "You should know by now that delaying the inevitable is pointless and irritating. Out with it."

"It's just that…" Sen clears her throat daintily, lifting a hand to her mouth. "I think… those clothes suit you."

Mouth agape, Kazama blinks, caught completely off-guard. He had expected her to inquire even further about his family, or cancel her involvement in tomorrow's journey, or any number of other things. A compliment was reasonably close to the last thing he had been expecting. "What…?"

"I—I said, those clothes suit you," repeats Sen, turning red, and looks away out of embarrassment. How precious; even after all their nights together, she is still embarrassed to admit that she finds Kazama attractive. (But then, a voice reminds him, he has hardly been any more forthright with _her_.) "That's all."

"That's all?" echoes Kazama, smiling despite himself. His wife's intrusion is a far more welcome diversion than he could have guessed, if his distance has reduced her to such a forward state. This may be some fun after all. "Now you're being neither silent nor honest. You made a choice when you started talking; commit to the compliment, and explain yourself."

Sen glances at him out the corner of her eye, tilting her chin up in a huff. "I am under no obligation to say more, especially not if you keep acting like _that_ ," she retorts. "Why should I stroke your ego any more than I already have? I know better than to think you'll return the favor."

Kazama's smile widens. "If you really thought so, you wouldn't have come here in the first place," he says, and Sen narrows her eyes almost imperceptibly as she struggles with his challenge. "But thinking for long enough at a time does work up an appetite, you know. I may be hungry, but I might never realize it if you don't tell me what you're thinking."

Glancing aside, Sen clears her throat again. "W-well, I'm sure you are aware by now that I find you… attractive," she begins, approaching one step at a time, almost as though expecting him to run away. "And since these Western clothes are so much more form-fitting than your usual kimono, I am inclined to like them. That's all."

Kazama grits his teeth as Sen lifts her hand to caress his cheek, his body reacting to her proximity despite his best efforts to resist, and the thoughts that have so long commandeered his attention begin to dissipate. His body seems much more sensitive now that he has spent days on end deep in his mind. "Form-fitting?" he growls. "I think you mean _tight_."

"Oh?" returns Sen, tilting her head. "I thought tightness was comfortable for you." She blushes to her ears as she says it, but still she meets his eyes. Such is the strength of her desire for him, then. Kazama stares at her, feeling a feverish flush spread across his own face at her boldness. So this is what prolonged deprivation does to her. If he were only stronger, he would do this much more often.

Taking the opportunity to advance until she brushes against him, Sen takes Kazama's hand and plays with his fingers, a smile tugging at her lips as he swallows automatically. "Only s-someti…!" His heart stops and his breath vanishes mid-response as she lifts his hand to kiss one of his fingertips, lips and teeth and tongue heightening his senses and evoking other sensations soon to come.

There is no backing out of this, but truth be told, he desperately needs the distraction. Another night of abstinence will not help straighten out his thoughts any more than they already have been. "If these clothes are so uncomfortable for you, let me help," murmurs Sen, clasping his hand briefly in hers before letting it fall. Her fingers are nimble, suggestive, as they busy themselves with the buttons on his coat. And all the more as they untie his cravat. Slowly.

"H-hurry up."

But Kazama's words, unconsciously spoken, have quite the opposite effect. Sen stops altogether for a moment, then undoes the last knot. Half-playfully, she turns her back on him, taking his cravat with her. "If you are not enjoying yourself, I could always leave. As you have requested—!"

Even before Sen finishes speaking, Kazama embraces her from behind, tighter, closer, unable to help but chase the pressure in bursts of friction. There is no need to respond in words for now; Sen can feel for herself his answer. But then, Kazama can also feel hers. Sliding his hand into her kimono, he traces her breasts, fingers skimming over smooth skin and defined nipples.

Her breath catches at his touch, and she rubs instinctively against him. "No, you can't," says Kazama, his voice a whisper in her ear, and Sen makes a faint noise of frustration in the back of her throat. Turning around again, she slings his undone cravat about his neck to draw him closer, dragging his head down so she can press her lips and body clumsily to his.

She tastes the slightest bit like sake. Not strongly enough that she is drunk, but it does explain her confidence, her openness… this epiphany. Perhaps Sen, too, is nervous about tomorrow. Heat of more than one kind floods him at the all-too-obvious realization that he is not alone after all. Sen, too, will have to make a choice: will she be his wife, or a stranger? And is he just another Kazama, or is he her husband?

But in the moment, they are nameless, a man and woman locked in an embrace as old as time.

Pulled back into his body as he surfaces from their kiss, Kazama seems to be missing a moment from his memory. One of Sen's hands has undone his belt and found its way into his pants. His breathing and thoughts become increasingly more irregular, scattered by Sen's increasingly more practiced motions. She knows the risks, but as long as they time things well…

But time moves too gradually. Growing impatient, Kazama slips his hand deftly into Sen's kimono to knead her thigh, then moves his fingers farther up. He can feel that she is beyond ready for more; why does she delay? To give him a taste of his own restraint? "Th-this takes some concentration, you know," gasps Sen, fingers slackening on the buttons of his vest. "Distracting me isn't going to h-help."

"Oh, take your time," says Kazama, smirking. She may have taken control with one hand, but he has wrested it from her grasp with only two fingers. "But if I finish you before you're done, you stay for another round. I intend to be satisfied tonight."

Rather than respond in words, Sen redoubles her efforts both above Kazama's belt and below. Inhaling sharply at the force of her advances, he loses strength, and his own hand drops back to his side: she has won this round. By the time Sen finally finishes with Kazama's vest and moves on to his shirt, he becomes vaguely conscious of a dampness that means the end is not far off, but it takes him several seconds to convince himself to stop her.

" _Stop_ ," he hisses, his tone urgent, and grasps her wrists to keep her hands still. "You have already humiliated me once, and I need these clothes for tomorrow's journey." He forces himself to look away from her, taking a deep breath. "Now, disrobe. I need to clear my head a moment if you want this to last."

"I-if you insist, Kazama-san," pants Sen, dazed, as Kazama kicks off his boots… but he pauses, distracted by unexpected unease. This is not dissatisfaction with his dominance, no mirror of Sen's contradictory desires weeks ago, but rather apprehension at her response. Oddly, where once he found great pleasure, his surname on her lips now unnerves him. Out of habit, he drifts momentarily back into his mind to further examine the emotion.

The title of leader came with the task of representing his clan to strangers—and, by extension, Sen—through his family name. And, for a time, it truly felt like his own, as powerful and independent as Kazama himself. It did not define or control him, but nonetheless it felt like a part of his being, something to honor and cherish. Yet, over the past days, the prospects of visiting his village along with Sen have shaken that confidence. Who he is depends in part on which name he uses, and like his identities, he must choose one going forward. And deep down, Kazama knows which it must be.

Soon, Sen will meet the others of his clan, and he will become just another one of _them_ in her eyes. Before long, she will see another side of his surname, and the warmth will vanish from her eyes each time she must say it. He will no longer be the only Kazama in her world, and he refuses to share his title with anyone else. It is simply a matter of summoning the strength to say it, bringing the sentiment to the surface of his consciousness.

Taking a deep breath, Kazama settles back into his body in time to discover with some relief that Sen has only just finished undressing. He must not have spent more than a minute at most fitting all the pieces together in his mind. "If you are going to come to my village, we will be staying with my family—the other members of the Kazama clan," he says, fumbling with his words and fly in the same breath. "My surname is… _won't_ be mine alone. Anymore."

Sen sinks to the floor to kneel before him, making no effort to move to the futon, and Kazama stifles a groan as she shifts in discomfort and anticipation. There is no hint of deceit in her mannerisms; she is not appearing so vulnerable out of a desire to manipulate him. Her need is genuine, and infectious. "And wh-what do you suggest I do about it?" she asks, her gaze fixed helplessly on Kazama as he casts the last of his clothes aside and stands fully naked before her.

There is no time to feel embarrassed at her stare, but Kazama's heart quickens all the same in fear of being bared. Swallowing, he crouches before her like the beast he is about to become. "Call me Chikage."

"Chikage-san," echoes Sen in a whisper, stars in her eyes. In that breath, his identity seems to change, solidifying into a leash or a lifeline. The world stops at the sound of Sen's hiss, and he lunges forward to push her the rest of the way to the floor on an impulse. Does he seek to silence her, or to make her say it again? It doesn't matter; it doesn't matter. Actions speak louder than words, even his name.

Sen's inhibitions are lower, now, and she does not trouble to stifle a little cry as Chikage holds her against the floor—a faint vocalization of pain and excitement as her back presses into hardwood—the catch of her breath as he finds his way in. All this is enough for him already, but he must ensure that she feels it too. Holding himself back through sheer willpower, Chikage applies pressure and then friction in just the right place, working as hard as he dares.

Thankfully, it only takes several quick shallow motions and a single, deeper roll of his hips before she stiffens and twists beneath him. Sensations lick at Chikage like fire—skin on skin, outside on in, soft and hot and wet—and, yes, tight as she had promised—slowly in the first second, then faster and faster, until he can stem the tide no longer. Especially not after Sen's halting, panting whimper: "Ch-Chikage… _san_!"

Her voice is only a stuttering breath at first, but gains strength until it is the volume of her speaking voice. Still, it sounds much louder in his ears, deafening as his heartbeat, and his body convulses in response, lowering over hers so abruptly that he must catch himself. "Yes," he hears himself whisper, a barely audible reply to her own cry, and leans heavily on his forearm.

Yet, though the name feels right, the sensations that follow are too overwhelming, his soul as oversensitive as his body in the aftermath. The ordinarily welcome warmth of Sen's expression has become scalding, their once-pleasurable proximity suffocating. Letting out a long exhalation, Chikage separates himself from his wife and rolls onto his back to catch his breath. Thoughts raining down on him like a hail of arrows, he smothers the inexplicable desire to gather her close to him as a shield.

Staying his hands, Chikage fixes his eyes blindly on the ceiling, still grasping for his place. Too much has happened too quickly these last few days, and it has only just begun. He still feels as though he is free-falling, dizziness setting in alongside the afterglow. Only one of his problems has been resolved, and even that may yet cause trouble. His insistence that Sen use his given name did not stem from any desire for further intimacy, but doubtless she will misinterpret the sentiment and assume otherwise.

And for the last time, Chikage sees his way forward all too clearly. Enough has changed already; he must cling to the position he knows, lest he lose himself altogether, and ensure that the barrier between them remains intact enough to act as a landmark amid his turbulent thoughts. "Go," says Chikage quietly, once he can speak again, and glances over at Sen. Her expression is distant and her eyes faraway, but she is smiling in genuine happiness. "I'll see you in the morning."

The sudden confusion in Sen's countenance, almost hurt, makes Chikage's heart skip a somewhat guilty beat—but he refuses to take back his words. "A-are you all right, Chikage-san?" she asks, sitting up, and pulls on her nagajuban.

Chikage gives a short nod, and though he senses another question on her lips and in her eyes, he cannot answer it. He has answered more than enough of her questions already, and besides, Sen makes it impossible for him to think straight in the first place. Under these circumstances, responding to a formless question with no right answer is far beyond his capabilities. Better that she leaves him alone.

" _Go_ ," repeats Kazama, more insistently, and Sen tosses him one last look of betrayal before gathering the rest of her kimono and obeying without another word.


	9. meetings

And just like that, everything is different again, so suddenly it feels like the breath has been knocked from Sen's body.

Now that there are more factors involved in their marriage than themselves, Kazama has withdrawn so far into his own mind that Sen can barely understand the motivations behind his actions anymore. Not that she ever _has_ , but she thought they were at least making progress toward clarity.

Sen has sensed this pushback building for some time, but tonight's events caught her completely off-guard. She could feel Kazama's impenetrable barriers lowering, feel him letting her slowly in, and then—he shut down so abruptly Sen didn't even have the chance to see the clouds gathering before lightning struck.

 _Chikage_ , Sen reminds herself bitterly, closing her door behind her. Not Kazama; he asked her to call him _Chikage_. She whispers his name to herself, a hollow echo of her passionate cry mere moments ago, and the first tear streaks down her cheek.

She starts, touching her fingers incredulously to her face. She has grown no closer to her husband, as he has made abundantly clear, yet he can still pierce her heart with a few scathing words. This is the emotion welling up in wounds to which she has long since thought herself invulnerable. Sniffling resentfully, Sen undresses again and slides into her bed. There is no point in readjusting clothes she will only have to change come the morning.

It takes her some time to force her thoughts away from her brooding husband. Strangely, she finds the most peace in looking forward to meeting his relatives. At the very least, learning to interact with her recently extended family may provide a welcome distraction from the more immediate dilemma in which she finds herself.

Sen does not remember falling asleep, but she awakens just before dawn.

The world feels cold and dark and uncertain all around her, but she forces herself to get up, pull on the traveling clothes she laid out last night, and emerge from her room as ready to go as she will ever be. Almost as soon as it was certain she would accompany him, they laid out their travel plans. The first step, which is quite enough to think about for now, is to meet Chikage in the audience chamber while Amagiri helps prepare the horses.

Yes, horses. Sen has only ever traveled on foot or by palanquin before, the short distance to and from Kyoto, so she is more than a little wary of traveling on horseback. However, it is undeniably the fastest mode of transport they have at their disposal, considering that even demons tire more quickly than horses. And besides, Sen would prefer to call as little attention to herself and her people as possible. The smaller and less conspicuous the party, the better.

Head still half in the clouds, Sen arrives at the main hall, unsurprised to find that Chikage is already ready and waiting for her. He offers no greeting but a dip of the head, taking in her hakama as Sen's gaze comes to rest on his Western uniform. He may have sworn he would put it aside, but for the sake of easing their travels by showing his status, he has chosen to don it once more.

Last night aside, Sen likes the complete look more than she anticipates. She likes his jacket, deceptively soft, and everything she knows is underneath it. She likes his boots, the authoritative and irreverent sound they make on floorboards as he paces back and forth. The only thing she doesn't like is the distance it puts between them, fittingly symbolic. He has changed in some way, while she remains the same as ever, but she cannot muster the strength to ask him why.

Thankfully, the door slides open before the silence can drag on any longer. "My lady," says Hiroaki quietly, up earlier even than usual and playing the role of a common servant for the sake of seeing her off. He has made no secret of his concern for her, not to mention his worry over whether his and Kiku's families will be able to look after the village in her stead.

"Is everything ready?"

Hiroaki inclines his head, then steps hastily aside as Chikage strides toward the door. Sen hurries after him, giving Hiroaki an apologetic smile and nod of thanks.

Sure enough, three horses await just outside—strong and healthy, from the looks of them, although Sen hardly considers herself an equine expert. One of them stands laden with their bags, and is led by Amagiri, himself seated atop a sturdy black horse. Even as Sen takes in their transport, Chikage is already swinging effortlessly onto a fine white stallion.

Momentarily distracted by the fact that Chikage looks as naturally dignified in that saddle as if he was born to be there, Sen stands still, unsure as to what is expected of her. Fortunately, it seems that standing still _is_ what is expected of her. As soon as he is settled, Chikage guides his horse over, his cues so subtle she can barely understand them, and stops before her. Silently, he extends his hand, and their eyes lock.

After a brief hesitation, Sen accepts it, and he pulls her into the saddle behind him. And just like that, they depart without so much as a goodbye, Sen holding on for dear life as an unfamiliar gait begins beneath her.

She knows that all her affairs have already been set in order in preparation for her absence, yet she cannot help but feel that something is missing anyway. But she resists the urge to glance back at all she is leaving behind. Such a final gesture may feel too much like farewell, and she cannot allow her will to waver even for a moment.

All the way into the city, the quietude endures, broken only by dawn birdsong and Sen's request that they stop by her agents' headquarters in Shimabara. After all, she sent a message at her earliest opportunity to alert Kiku to her impending absence, and it is about time that she receive a response; this will be her last chance to check before her departure.

Sure enough, as soon as they arrive at the establishment in question, an oiran hands her a brief note of confirmation from Kiku… and a reply from Chizuru, less expected but no less welcome. After Sen accepts both letters gratefully and wishes her agent well, they continue onward out of the city.

The route has been arranged for them already, in large part thanks to Amagiri's talent for organization. Consequently, all Sen has to do is sit, and try not to think about how alone she feels. She may be embracing Chikage from behind, but she still feels as though there is a wall between them, and she can hardly tear it down in Amagiri's presence. Instead, she just concentrates on holding her tongue as intently as she is holding onto her husband, and tries not to think too much.

As soon as they stop for a break halfway through the day, Sen opens and reads Chizuru's latest letter to keep her mind off her husband. _Dear Osen-chan,_ _I would be lying if I said your news did not send me into shock when I first read it, and my grief was so strong that I could not compose a reply for several days. However, I have suspected Father's death for some time, and now, I have been forced to accept once and for all that he will not come home. I will be able to move forward with my life soon, and Heisuke has been able to comfort me in the meantime. For that, I must thank you._

Sen lets out a long sigh of relief and sympathy, bowing her head. She, and everyone else, has a habit of underestimating Chizuru's fortitude. She may have been raised as a human girl, but she is as resilient in body and in spirit as any other pureblooded demon. This is made more and more clear as the letter continues.

 _Aside from that, we are both well, although even now Heisuke's fury symptoms have not yet disappeared altogether. The other night, I felt him seize up and knew what was wrong, but he refused to drink my blood because of my condition. Neither of us slept that night, and I still worry about how much of his life Heisuke might have lost. He seemed so convinced that a little cut would kill both me and our child. I've been trying to tell him that the worry will kill me first, but he never listens._

Sen frowns; Chizuru's concern is clear, but her words are almost casual. She cannot imagine such a situation becoming normal.

 _On a lighter note, I'm glad to hear that you and Kazama-san are working toward peace, but I am curious about how exactly you are doing—you never said._ _I know you said you didn't want to burden me with your personal problems, and I know some of them are confidential, but they say a burden shared is a burden halved. Even if I can't do anything to help, I can offer sympathy or advice; I am a woman too. And besides, even thinking about someone else's worries keeps my mind off my own. That is something I sorely need, these days._

Sen wants more than anything else to shelve her pride and accept such an offer, but her pride is no longer hers alone to shelve. Chikage, too, has feelings she must take into account before acting, as he has made more and more plain. Somehow, the idea of revealing the more intimate facets of their life to a third party, however well-meaning, does not sit well with Sen.

 _All the best,_ finishes the letter, and Chizuru's signature is full of reassuring acceptance and purpose. It is barely enough to lighten her mood, but Sen will take any comfort she can get. It is time for them to start moving again.

By the time they stop for the evening, Sen and Chikage have not exchanged more than a few words all day, and the continued silence seeps into her mind like poison. But that changes now, as Sen marches up to the innkeeper and requests a single room for the night. Sharing a room may not be strictly _necessary_ , but they are husband and wife. By spending the night together for once, they will have no choice but to reconcile.

Besides, Sen would rather save as much money as possible. Given the tension with the court, Yase's economy may suffer in the days to come. And Chikage must understand, because though his misgivings are evident in his eyes, he does not try to stop her. He only follows behind her as the innkeeper shows them to their room, bringing his aura of gloom with him. Sen only hopes she can dispel it.

"I thought dominance was the only thing we ever fought over," says Sen tentatively, almost as soon as the innkeeper closes the door politely behind them.

"Oh, are we _fighting_ now?" counters Chikage scornfully, eyes searing as he turns to face her. "I thought our disagreements were never quiet."

"You know what I mean, K—Chikage-san," says Sen, trying again. She knows him well enough to know that this battle will be lost the moment she allows him to force her onto the defensive. "I understand your reluctance to return to a family like yours, but I am on your side. Last night…" She trails off, trying to find a way to avoid mentioning it directly. "I assumed you knew that."

Chikage crosses his arms. "And I assumed _you_ knew I always need time to think."

"Even at a moment like that?"

" _Especially_ at a moment like that."

Sen gives a long sigh. For being so obsessive about silence or honesty, he can be maddeningly indirect regarding his feelings. Perhaps she can get the answer out of him through questions: "I can only right whatever wrong I've done if you tell me what it is first."

"Why must you always assume everything is about _you_?" snaps Chikage, and Sen flinches. "You once told me that you have many more things to consider than my feelings, so much so that you needed me to request an audience before I voiced them. Is it so difficult for you to believe that it is the same for me?"

That had not been what she meant, but now is not the time to explain. "After last night, yes," shoots back Sen, glowering. "Moments after you bared your soul, you not only smothered it again, but pushed me away in so doing. It was… unexpected." She takes a deep breath. "And, to a small degree, it has damaged my trust in you."

Chikage makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "I take it you seek an apology?"

Narrowing her eyes, Sen looks him up and down. "Only if you mean it."

"Then your search is in vain," says Chikage. "If I have truly damaged your trust, it is because you redefined our duties first. Our lives had only just become peaceful before you insisted on getting involved in my affairs, and I am under no obligation to—"

Sen does not wait for him to finish. "You granted me permission."

"Only because in this case, showing is far easier than telling," growls Chikage. "I intended that to be the end of the matter until our departure, but you insisted on needling me about the details."

"All of which you surrendered willingly," retorts Sen. "I seem to recall you telling me in no uncertain terms that you would indulge me until you tired of it. And besides, my curiosity was hardly invasive," she adds, raising her voice slightly as Chikage opens his mouth. "I only inquired about things a wife _should_ know about her husband's family."

"You and I have very different ideas of what constitutes wifely behavior."

"Then it is fortunate that of the two of us, _I_ am the wife."

Chikage's eyes blaze. "If satisfying your curiosity is your right as my wife, then my need for impersonality is my right as your consort," he says, barely holding himself back from raising his voice. "Legally, I am supposed to be of little consequence to you."

"But personally, you are _not_ ," says Sen, and Chikage stares, caught off-guard. "If you want our relationship to be impersonal, why trust me to call you by your given name?" She searches his eyes, but finds no answers there. "And then, moments later, you withdrew so far into yourself that I can barely see you anymore—without either warning or explanation. Did you not say that trust means talking to one another about the things that may affect us both?"

Chikage's eyes harden again, and Sen recoils at his icy expression. "This has nothing to do with you. Upon my homecoming, I will no longer be called 'Kazama', but 'Chikage'. I thought it best that you learn to refer to me as such, since my father is be the only one anyone calls by our clan name. Even the servants."

Sen narrows her eyes. It isn't like him to make excuses, and this is a feeble one indeed. "You could have at least told me that instead of sending me away like you did."

To her surprise, Chikage shakes his head. "The situation was too complex to explain with so little breath," he protests, his tone and body language somewhere between defeated and defensive, but Sen's frustration smolders too hotly for her to forgive him. "Over the past few days, I've been trying to come to terms with who I am, who I was, and the differences between the two. And, as I've said, you are a detriment to my foc—"

"Do you think this situation is any easier for me?" exclaims Sen, clenching her fists. "I made my decision for the good of my people and our alliance, and you agreed. I must meet your family as an infamous stranger and make a good impression against overwhelming odds—and, apparently, I must do it without any help from you!" As Chikage eyes her hands, she forces herself to speak more calmly, fingers slackening. "You insist that this has nothing to do with me, but it _does_. We both made our choices, for better or worse!"

"I'm well aware of that!" shoots back Chikage, and his fingers curl into fists. "But the fact remains that your involvement makes the situation more complicated! If I seek my family's approval, I cannot be myself as I am now, and that means I may become like a stranger to you. But conversely, if I wish to maintain our relationship and protect what little peace we've found, _they_ may not recognize me."

Sen rolls her eyes. Thus far, talking things out has been Chikage's only measure of success in reconciling the many differences between facets of his personality. It is unrealistic for him to assume he will be able to manage it on his own. He may have grown used to isolation over the course of his upbringing, but as he has pointed out himself, his present has begun interfering with his past. Even if she is a part of the problem, she also offers a solution: _communication_.

"In trying to unify yourself in such a way, you are pulling us apart," says Sen. "As far as I'm concerned, if it means you will behave more consistently, it may be better for you to become a stranger to me for the duration of our stay than to torture us both like this. I can adapt to whatever mask you see fit to wear, so long as you remove it again someday." She sighs. "If the choice is between fulfilling my expectations or those of your family, I wonder that the former would even enter your head."

"It isn't a conscious decision," returns Chikage. "Your presence is disruptive. And besides…" Sen raises her eyebrows as her husband lets out a short breath, looking away as if in shame. She has never seen such a vulnerable expression on his face before. "I prefer myself as I am now to the man they expect me to be," he confesses, more quietly, and Sen stares at him. "I have never experienced a conflict of duty and desire on this scale before, and you are the reason behind it. Leave me be until I have sorted it out."

Sen takes a step forward, but Chikage steps back automatically. This is not a conversation that can be eased with any more physical gestures of reassurance. "How do you know I can't help you, if you refuse to let me try?"

But Chikage shakes his head. "You saw for yourself last night. I _tried_ to include you. I told you to call me Chikage, because I thought that might make it easier to reconcile my two roles. But…" He hesitates, glowering at the wall in grim resolution, but this reaction is too defensive to be born of anger. "You are the Princess of Yase, and I am your consort. Nothing more."

An ordinary man might have expressed such a sentiment with the intention of illustrating a class difference or conveying a sense of unworthiness, but Chikage is too proud to imply any kind of inferiority. Rather, he means to clarify that while he understands the implications of his actions last night, he never meant to deepen their relationship. Given his dynamic with his own family, Sen doubts he really knows _how_.

Yet she cannot help but feel that somewhere, deep inside him, he might have meant to do so after all.

Perhaps in response to her husband's emotional inexperience and turmoil, Sen's irritation loosens its hold on her heart slightly. But she cannot bring herself to let go altogether, and her voice is still brusque to her own ears. "What are you so afraid of, Chikage-san?"

Chikage narrows his eyes, returning his gaze sharply to Sen's face. "Nothing," he says, and the unyielding ferocity in his eyes hints that he at least believes that to be true, even if his restlessness says otherwise. "I fear nothing."

Letting out a brief sigh, Sen shifts in place. She will not be able to get any more useful information if Chikage is this insistent on retreating into himself. "I see you still need to work on your communication."

"And _you_ still need to work on minding your own business." Chikage's tone is harsh as ever, but Sen can hear a note of uncertainty. Perhaps he is ready, on at least some level, to make peace.

"This is _our_ business now, Chikage-san," Sen corrects him, approaching a few tentative steps; sure enough, this time, he stands his ground. "Even before last night, you chose to trust me. Surely you can understand that much."

"I…" Chikage's clear instinct is to refute her statement, but rather than speak, he swallows the rest of his words. Judging by his expression, they are bitter, but Sen appreciates his restraint. His silence on the subject gives her hope, encouraging her to set aside her own resentment. This rift has not erased their progress after all, only hindered its continuation.

"Let go, Chikage-san," murmurs Sen, resting a hand on his chest. "You will not be able to assess where exactly you fit into the current situation until our safe arrival. Until then, you will only be engaging in idle speculation." She meets Chikage's eyes. "Okiku has often told me that structured plans become more of a burden than a boon in unpredictable conditions. Perhaps you could try adapting your agenda to the situation as it changes?"

"That's ridiculous," mumbles Chikage, but his words are halfhearted; Sen can sense him succumbing to her non-insistent suggestions, slipping back into his body. Even if he refuses to admit it, he knows she is right.

"I don't see how overthinking matters like this is any _less_ ridiculous," points out Sen. "For all your faults, you are a strong and competent individual. I would never have agreed to marry you otherwise. You ought to be able to handle a little improvisation."

" _For all my faults_ ," repeats Chikage, glowering. "I suppose you'd be wildly offended if I said the same of you." Sen suppresses a smile as she recognizes his defeat. She has begun to understand, over the months, that lapsing back into semantics is his signal of concession. In order to accept her decisions, Chikage must be allowed to win at least a minor victory as recompense.

"Try me," says Sen. If he wants to ease back into pettier insults, far be it from her to stop him. She has already made her main point, and that is all that matters. If she must throw the rest of the match for the sake of smoothing matters out, so be it.

Chikage stares at her, disarmed, but rises to the occasion within the moment. "You're convinced your solutions are better than mine," he says, glaring into her eyes, but his ire is laced with embarrassment. "You're picky and hypocritical. And you take everything I say far too personall—!"

Sen leans up and kisses him again mid-insult, a carefully crafted strategy sparked by an impulse. He freezes at first, but to her faint surprise, does not push her away. Instead, reacting to the gentle but firm pressure of her lips on his, he draws her closer still. This is no ordinary hunger, no lust for lust's sake. The almost desperate agitation in his motions signals that he needs this distraction, that it now outweighs any attempt at maintaining the distance he sought last night.

"I know," breathes Sen, once they break away. There is a profound confusion behind Chikage's eyes. he is well aware of the contradictions in his behavior. Yet his hands have settled on her waist in a gesture of surrender, a need to hold himself steady. "But I am trying to change, too. For you. Whomever you may be." And for her own peace of mind, too, but there is no need for him to know that. Let him believe that her effort is for him alone.

But Chikage does not respond in words. He only lets out a long breath and, to Sen's astonishment, kisses her again. Normally, she is the one to bridge the gap between them in such a way. Normally, he moves farther, and faster. But she cannot question his decision, if indeed this is a conscious decision at all. She just gives herself over to his touch, because tonight, he needs the control… and she needs to feel needed.

As the minutes pass, the aches of travel ebb away, and they slip out of their clothes, action and reaction intertwining along with their bodies. They start slowly, careful to keep quiet, but they are too invested in the end to maintain a gradual pace for long. They seek the comfort of afterglow more than the pleasure of the moment, and it shows in their mutually relentless rhythm, in the way Chikage keeps his fingers moving along with his hips—focusing more on heightening her sensation than prolonging it—

Sen's breath hitches as she spasms, swallowing a whine as the end flashes through her being like lightning. Chikage's panting breaths and faint vocalization sound louder in the ensuing silence, and they instinctively work together to suppress the shudder that runs through them both. This sudden self-conscious awareness, silence pressing on their ears, forces them to listen for any sign of approaching footsteps and scandalized voices. Even Chikage, for all his assertiveness and pride, prefers to avoid attracting too much attention in a situation like this.

They remain as one for longer than Sen anticipated, even considering their sudden unease. Once the window of likely danger has passed, she realizes that Chikage's eyes have closed, flickering beneath their lids. However, the moment they open a crack, they fly wide and he colors again, rolling onto his side to cool down.

There is a long silence as they catch the rest of their breath, but Sen feels compelled to break it within the minute. They need some sort of resolution after engaging in such a powerful contradiction, and she knows just the metaphor to sway the conclusion in her favor. "Why do you always satisfy me?"

Chikage glances over at her, distracted. "What?"

"I'm asking why you are always so careful to reciprocate," says Sen, turning to face him, but they cannot meet one another's eyes for long. "If our relationship is supposed to be so impersonal. Even before I let you take the reins, you always made sure to fulfill me rather than using it as leverage."

"It's only fair," says Chikage, turning to stare up at the ceiling. "You do the same for me, even if only because you must."

"Precisely," says Sen, and Chikage's frown deepens. "And just as we have always shared pleasure _equally_ in our bedroom, I have come to include you in my business on faith that you will include me in yours. Allowing me to share a burden you have thus far insisted on carrying alone is not necessarily a measure of emotional intimacy. It…" Sen trails off, reaching for the right words. If she speaks too clumsily, she will drive him even further away. "It simply allows me to offer you better advice and support, as any spouse should."

Chikage says nothing in response, but Sen can tell from the quality of the silence that he is mulling over her words, and relents. He always needs time to think, as he has already reminded her, and she has given him more than enough to consider for tonight. Instead, Sen simply rolls onto her back, closes her eyes, and tries to sink into sleep.

Although staying in the same room was useful for the purposes of saving money and forcing a resolution, now that her duty is done, Sen finds it somewhat unnerving. Even considering the heaviness of afterglow, the rest of the night is almost sleepless thanks to their proximity. Their bodies are not quite touching beneath the blankets, but something in Sen's mind will not allow her to dip beneath the surface of consciousness, almost as if she instinctively considers him a threat. And she can hear in his breathing, not quite deep enough, that he is half-awake, too.

Thankfully, the next morning brings with it relief in at least some sense. Chikage says little, and his tone is terse, but his eyes are softer and even a little sheepish as he looks at her. They depart at dawn without exchanging any more words than they did yesterday, but her mind is eased, and her heart beats a little more calmly. Even Amagiri, stoic as ever, seems somehow more relaxed, as though he senses their resolution.

The rest of their journey is largely uneventful, each day of almost ceaseless travel and restless anticipation blurring into the next. It is the nights that make more of an impression on Sen's memory, lying next to Chikage—sometimes in the afterglow, sometimes not. Even if this is only the calm before the storm, the world seems more peaceful, silent but for the hum of his blood and still but for involuntary twitches.

For several days, those few drowsy hours make up the only time they are able to spend in one another's company, other than riding the same horse, until they must board the ship to Kyushu.

Sen's sense of solitude may have become more comfortable over the course of their journey, but she cannot deny that she is looking forward to supervising Chikage's thought processes a little more closely. After all, the absence of strife is not the same as true harmony. Since the first night, they have not yet found the time or energy to come to a decisive resolution as to their chosen course, and he has a habit of coming to faulty conclusions when left to his own devices.

Unfortunately, their good luck with the weather has run out, and Sen finds herself too distracted by her own increasing anxiety to inquire about Chikage's. Whenever he isn't pacing, he spends much of his time on deck staring into the horizon, and Sen hardly dares join him. The light autumnal rain is more like a heavy mist than anything else, but the sea is gray like the sky, or like Chikage's other custom-made coat. It feels uncomfortably like Sen is surrounded by forces of nature, deadly and grand—her husband among them. Their cabin may be less comfortable, but it seems more secure.

The storm scatters Sen's thoughts in the gale, reshuffling her priorities. The farther she travels from her area of jurisdiction, the more uneasy she becomes. Even if the unspoken truce she and Chikage have entered into is only the eye of their personal storm, she finds it much easier to be satisfied with what little peace they have. Their current balance is a precarious one, or at least it feels even more so these days; they cannot afford to push themselves or one another until they are settled.

Even after they pass through the storm, it it all too easy for Sen to imagine that they are towing it behind them. The skies remain dull and ominous, and the restless wind whispers of all the expectations Sen has tried to put from her mind. She thought that she and Chikage would have to consciously reverse their positions in order to achieve the balance of power his clan anticipates, but she finds that she has naturally become more timid in this unfamiliar territory… and Chikage appears to have grown more confident, coming into his own as if to compensate for her vulnerability. Sen only wishes she knew which path he chose.

The sky is a blinding white on the day they arrive at their destination, the sun's afternoon glow diffused by a thin layer of clouds. Sen had not thought herself adjusted to transportation by ship, but her first steps on solid ground are even unsteadier than her frame of mind. Though Chikage's balance is not at its best, either, he catches her hand to steady her as they disembark, and Sen does not let go. It will be better once they are on horseback again, she thinks, watching for Amagiri's appearance. At the very least, the swaying motion is similar enough.

But Amagiri simply leads the horses off the ship, handing off the white stallion's reins to Chikage without a word as he goes, and walks slowly ahead with only a small bow. He, too, must be impatient to start moving again, but why not make use of their mounts?

"We're only a few more miles away," explains Chikage, seeing Sen's confusion, and she tenses automatically. They are even closer than she thought. "And all those who enter the Kazama village do so on their own power, if possible. It is tradition, and even on foot, we shouldn't arrive later than nightfall." He hesitates, gaze fixed determinedly on the hills. "Besides, after being at sea for so long, I think I could use the exercise."

Recognizing a note of oddly bracing humor in his voice, Sen chances a smile, and is rewarded with a slight squeeze of the hand. Her heart skips a beat at his unspoken gesture of reassurance—hadn't she sworn to support _him_?—and they depart, pausing only to water the horses and refill the canteens before making their way into the foothills.

As they continue walking, Sen regains her balance, but does not remove her hand from Chikage's until the heat becomes uncomfortable. As the three of them pick their way up the mountain trail, Sen reflects that the journey has felt far longer than it is, yet she is well aware that they have made good time. In fact, thinking back, it seems like only yesterday that she heard anything of substance about Chikage's father, and now their first meeting is imminent.

Why, then, does Sen already feel like she has become another woman?

Perhaps this is what Chikage felt upon arriving in Yase, and why he feels so strange about returning home again. Now that Sen has ventured so far from her own village, she understands Chikage's concerns about becoming a stranger to her. Humans may change their hearts and minds more often, but under certain circumstances, demons may be just as susceptible to evolution over just as short a span.

The forest around them gets steadily darker, along with Sen's thoughts, as the sun sinks lower behind its veil of clouds. No sooner than Sen notices how close they are to nightfall, than Amagiri and Chikage halt in the same moment, and she too comes to an abrupt stop.

At first, Sen does not understand the delay, but then she hears faint off-key humming and fainter footsteps coming closer. The pull in her blood indicates that this is another demon, so they likely have little to fear, but Sen hadn't anticipated that they would encounter anyone until they entered the village itself. And evidently, neither did the person in question, as he stops short as soon as he emerges from the deeper woods.

The stranger is youthful in appearance, perhaps in his middle teenage years, and appears more startled or even frightened than suspicious. He has clearly just finished some kind of training, judging by his hakamashita hanging down in back and the bokuto in his hand. However, even as his eyes flick rapidly between the three intruders, Sen finds herself relaxing for reasons she cannot explain. There is something so inexplicably innocent about his appearance, like the boys in Yase caught out-of-bounds.

Yet this irrepressible sense of familiarity runs deeper than that.

Physically, his features do not stand out much in Sen's memory. The boy's hair is an almost ginger shade of tawny, tied high up in a somewhat scruffy ponytail, and his wide eyes are too dark for Sen to discern their true color in the dim light. His body language _is_ rather similar to Hiroaki's, based on his inability to meet anyone's eyes. Maybe that's it.

But before Sen can make any more educated guesses, the boy jolts to action and bows to Chikage—rigid and ungraceful, as though he has not done it often before—and Amagiri bows to the boy. "B-Brother," stammers the stranger, his voice cracking, and Sen stares between the two of them. The family resemblance is fairly strong, now that she has noticed it, but she never thought any Kazama could look so timid. "I… didn't think I'd meet you… here."

"The feeling is mutual," says Chikage, glancing around as Amagiri and the boy both straighten up. The latter's motions are jerky, almost like he is expecting to be struck. "Does Father know you came this far down the mountain, Katsuro? I don't recall being allowed this close to any humans until I was set free…"

Sen can hear in Chikage's tone that the question is a rhetorical one, meant to establish his authority, but Katsuro does not recognize his intent and flinches. "I—I'm only a mile from home at most," he says, dodging the issue. "And i-it's not like I've ever gone into town, or anything! I just like to have… some time to myself, th-that's all."

Chikage heaves an impatient sigh. "Frankly, I couldn't care less why you're out here," he says, and Sen frowns at his dismissive tone, although Katsuro appears to be cautiously relieved that this will stay a secret. "There are more important things to consider at the moment. Escort us home at once, and alert Father to our presence; I am sure there will be more than enough time for pleasantries and introductions later."

"O-of course," says Katsuro, turning stiffly to lead the way. As the group picks up the pace once more, more briskly than ever, Amagiri looks as reproachful as Sen feels. Still, she dares not confront Chikage about his behavior while he is in such a tense mood, and especially not in such a public place. This will have to wait until later tonight at earliest.

It takes less time than Sen expects before they make their way through the gate and into the village itself. The houses are sparse at first, then closer together—less centrally organized than Yase, from the looks of things, but the atmosphere is still pleasant and balanced. There are a few streets branching off here and there, leading to other areas, but the main road stretches straight ahead. And at the top of the hill…

Tracing the path before them to its end, Sen stares up at the Kazama mansion and cannot look away. It is easily as expansive as her own palace, but while it is beautiful to look at, its aura is imposing. That impression is only furthered by the sentinels standing outside the gates; even unarmed, their presence is unsettling. Though they only bow in silence and accept the horses' reins, and even pause to allow Sen to fetch her bag, she cannot stifle a sudden and sharper sense of dread. Can this prison really be Chikage's childhood home?

As soon as Chikage signals Amagiri to carry Sen's bag—it takes a moment for Sen to gather her wits enough to hand it over—Katsuro takes off again, almost as if hoping to lose them. And such a thing might be easy to do, if he led Sen alone. The inside of the house is like a maze, some halls narrow and others wide. Nonetheless, Katsuro and the others navigate the labyrinth with apparent ease, and Sen finds herself caught up in their whirlwind like a fallen leaf skittering along the road.

The four of them stop outside a door, painted in faded shades of blue. "W-wait here," says Katsuro, again not meeting any of their eyes, but Sen can see well enough that his are red after all. "Please. I'll send… someone… to find you. Once he's ready. Father, I mean." Even as he speaks, he backs away slowly, then turns and scurries around the nearest corner as soon as the words are out. Chikage watches him flee expressionlessly, as though this behavior is normal.

Amagiri clears his throat. "I shall depart for my designated room," he says, inclining his head in a short bow, and offers Sen her bag again. "I doubt that Kazama-san will wish to see me tonight." That name on his lips is a strange sound indeed, and strikes a strange chord in her heart. As Amagiri takes his leave, she realizes once and for all why Chikage did not consider trusting her with his given name as personal a gesture as it seemed. She _knew_ , of course, but she didn't _feel_ it until now.

Sen knows full well that her initial assumption was a rational one, and even Chikage was aware of those more intimate connotations (as he tried to refute them), but she cannot help but curse her gullibility, her willingness to believe that he might let her in—that he might be in denial about the reason. For a moment, she sees herself as Chikage must see her: emotional, stubborn, and hopelessly naïve. She never used to be burdened by such self-doubt, but then, she has never ventured outside her own village. Without anyone else to reflect her self-image, she almost feels like she does not exist at all.

The sound of the door opening distracts her, and Sen stirs herself out of her thoughts with an effort, taking a deep breath before hurrying inside. She cannot afford to weaken now, when their audience with Lord Kazama is imminent. Forcing herself to look around and find something to focus on, Sen realizes that this must be Chikage's room. They have certainly been expecting him, if they have lit the lanterns already and kept it so tidy.

But there is little time to take in these new surroundings; her priority is freshening up. Their business is too urgent for her to take a full bath, but Sen can at least change out of these dusty hakama and into a proper kimono. After setting down her bag as Chikage closes the door, Sen retrieves her chosen outfit and undresses quickly.

Only halfway through the process of getting dressed again does she realize that Chikage is staring at her. Evidently, he has no intention of changing along with her. "Don't just stand there," she orders, flushing as she pulls on her outer layer. "If you want to help so badly, you can brush my hair once I finish."

Rather than respond in words, Chikage only stoops to retrieve her comb from her bag and approaches. Unbidden, he assists in securing her obi, 'helping' more like a cat than a demon. He seems intent on keeping her in a state of undress for as long as possible. It is admittedly nice to feel wanted, if only for the sake of familiarity, but there is a time and a place for such antics.

As soon as she is properly clothed, Sen kneels and Chikage follows suit, taking her hair in his hands and running the comb through it somewhat lazily. Judging by his unhurried attitude, he does not believe her hair needs fixing in the slightest.

Or perhaps he is simply trying, in his own understated way, to calm Sen down. The feeling of the comb running through her long hair _is_ relaxing, and she finally remembers to breathe. But the silence surrounding them is anything but calming, and she reaches out automatically for conversation. "Do you…" she begins eventually, her voice small. "Do you think your father is in fit shape to have a proper audience?"

"An assassin could stab my father through the heart at the other end of the house, and he would still insist on dragging himself to his throne before delivering his last words," says Chikage. "But we'll see how he looks when we get there. I have already had to see him on some of his worse days, so I should be able to tell how serious his condition is."

Even as he speaks of his father's illness and demise, however hypothetical, his voice is so dispassionate that Sen thinks she feels the temperature drop a few degrees, and suppresses a shiver with difficulty. If Chikage were to describe her to someone else, is that the tone he would use? "Do _all_ your family think of one another the way you think of them?"

Chikage stiffens, and she can practically feel his sudden scowl burning into her back. "What do you mean?"

Sen touches her fingers together, second thoughts flashing through her mind, but perseveres. "You seem wholly unattached to them on a personal level," she says. Which is a powerful understatement, but she must practice tact in preparation for their audience with Lord Kazama. "I was wondering if the _rest_ of your family sees one another as anything more than kin. Friends, or… partners." The examples set before him will likely color how he views her.

Letting out a sigh that stirs Sen's hair, Chikage resumes his brushing carefully. "My stepmother prizes her sons more highly than life itself. Of that I am sure. But I am less confident that any of my brothers feel the same way about one another, or that my father has ever been close to either of his wives."

Sen raises her eyebrows. That explains a lot. "Then you are the result of an arrangement like ours?"

"What, you thought my parents married for love?" asks Chikage, and Sen has never been so overjoyed to hear the subtle teasing note in his voice. At the very least, he is still capable of amusement, even in this forbidding atmosphere. "I knew you were delusional, but…"

Sen glances back at him, feeling the color rise once more to her cheeks. "I did _not._ I am fully aware that such matches are uncommon at best. I simply never considered the exact circumstances of your birth before, that's all."

But her breath catches at the end of her sentence as a voice from outside interrupts: "Excuse me, Chikage-sama—Sen-hime," comes a young female from the outside of the door, soft and respectful despite her inadvertent disruption. "Kazama-sama has summoned you."

"Then we'll be on our way," returns Chikage, carefully setting aside Sen's comb, and gets to his feet. "Dismissed."

As the maid's quiet footsteps retreat again, Chikage offers his hand to Sen. She takes it with no small amount of apprehension, recalling the same gesture from atop his horse upon leaving Yase, and allows him to pull her to her feet. Their roles have been officially reversed. This is Chikage's territory, and Sen must rely on his support, should he choose to offer it.

A strange sense of numbness expands in her chest as he leads the way out the door, and she can barely hear him closing it behind them. This is the encounter they have anticipated, the meeting so momentous that it has interfered with their views of themselves and their relationship. Yet, however surreal this situation may be, it feels clearer than even her most lucid of dreams.

"If you must speak, call him 'Kazama-sama'," murmurs Chikage, striding into a courtyard leading to a grander set of doors, and Sen takes a deep breath to steel herself. However many times she has pictured this moment, it has never felt half so intimidating before. "And try not to address my stepmother at all in his presence. He likes to be the center of attention in his own audience chamber."

Sen nods, and Chikage opens the door. Keeping her eyes fixed respectfully on the floor, Sen approaches a cushion on the floor and bows low. Only after she sinks carefully into seiza does she dare take a cautious look around. The hall is beautiful, but the presence within it is too powerful for Sen to admire it much. Seated in a low throne, up a few stairs to emphasize his superiority, is Chikage's father.

Lord Kazama is almost identical to what Sen imagines her husband will look like in a few more decades, his graying blond hair hanging loose but neat down his back. His face is lined and severe in appearance, yet he has aged with dignity. His red eyes, clear and alert, might be a shade or so darker than those of his son, and even deeper, like a crimson abyss.

But something about his appearance is… off. His skin is pale, but he is not _gaunt_ , and his breathing is slow and even. In fact, he appears quite as healthy as any demon of his stature should be. Perhaps it is a façade intended to impress his visitors, but if he can muster enough strength to appear so convincingly strong, there can be no immediate danger. Why, then, did he really summon Chikage?

But a faint motion in the corner of Sen's eye distracts her, and she glances over at the woman who must be his wife, seated in an inferior position some distance from her husband. She is truly a beauty, much younger than Lord Kazama, with her demure posture and silky copper hair and cool amber eyes—autumnal tones reflected in her elegant kimono. There are only a few lines in her face, but they are lines born of constant worry. Sen knows those features well; they run in Kiku's family.

"Father," greets Chikage, his tone frigid, and Sen almost jumps as he breaks tradition as well as the silence with a single word. In any circles, human or demon, it is almost unheard of for the summoned party to speak first. "Still alive, I see. If you're not on your deathbed, as that letter suggested, why _did_ you call me here?"

"To see if you would come." Lord Kazama's voice is dry and hoarse and singly low, unlike his son's layered tenor, but certainly not the feeble cough Sen had expected. Moreover, he is completely unperturbed by his son's attitude. If this was an expected reaction, then perhaps Chikage has not changed as much as he anticipated. Or perhaps Lord Kazama has somehow anticipated that change.

Chikage narrows his eyes, and Sen knows he is barely holding himself back from a biting retort. "I accepted your title and repaid our debt for your sake, and I am in the process of fulfilling another of my duties. Am I so untrustworthy?"

Lord Kazama shakes his head. "If I cannot trust my own flesh and blood, whom can I trust?" he returns. "Still, you have ignored my messages for months now, and you have always been easily distracted. Or led astray." As he speaks, his eyes slide over to Sen and stay there. "And this must be the woman you have chosen to make your wife."

The statements appear to be unrelated, yet Lord Kazama is not changing the subject, but elaborating on it. Sen is not trusted here. Chikage senses this too, and does not look pleased, but he nods shortly. "May I present Sen-hime of Yase," he says, gesturing to her. "Descendant of Suzuka Gozen, pure of blood but for a single ancestor, and ruler of her village."

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance at last, Kazama-sama," says Sen, bowing briefly in a gesture of reluctant respect.

"The honor is mine," says Lord Kazama politely, inclining his head, and she looks up at him again. "Although I must confess it is quite an unexpected one. I wrote to hasten my son's return alone, and from what little he told me upon your engagement, you insisted that our clans' affairs remain as separate as possible. In other words, it seems that you want nothing to do with us." His eyes spark. "Why, then, have you accompanied him?"

Sen frowns, caught off-guard. Though the answer is obvious to her, she finds that she cannot articulate it, and scrambles for the proper words. "I seek no political influence over your village or your clan," she says, less steadily than she would like. "I came only because I wish to become acquainted with my husband's immediate family, since I have not had an opportunity to do so as of yet. That is all."

"Is that so," responds Lord Kazama, evidently unconvinced.

"She's being polite," says Chikage dispassionately, glancing over at Sen with an inscrutable expression in his eyes. "I requested that she come with me because producing an heir is made somewhat more difficult to accomplish when we are hundreds of miles apart." Sen blinks, stomach knotting. Chikage is a terrible liar, but there is no hint of deceit in his countenance. Is that the _only_ reason he agreed to bring her along? "After all, your letter said nothing about how long I am expected to stay here."

"I see," says Lord Kazama, looking Sen up and down with newfound interest, and cold anger flares in her belly under his scrutiny. Despite her station, and all she has done on her own merit, her value has only increased in his eyes because of the child she has sworn to produce. Lord Kazama may be her elder, but she still outranks him, if only by a small margin. How dare he objectify her in such a way!

Chikage heaves a sigh, drawing the attention away from her reaction, and Sen comes back to herself as she recognizes that he is rather charitably buying her time to conceal her emotions. If Lord Kazama is anything like his son, he is testing her boundaries, establishing the foundation of whatever their relationship will be. She must sit her ground, accepting any ambiguous insults with the serenity and grace for which all Princesses of Yase have been known.

"Does her presence offend you that much, Father?" asks Chikage. "I was under the impression that you had something of an eye for beauty, considering all the decorations you've collected over the years." As he speaks, his eyes flick unmistakably to his stepmother, and though the woman herself does not react, Sen narrowly resists the urge to stare at him. Does overt disrespect run in the family? "Now, are you going to tell me why you really summoned me, or shall I assume it was in error and return to Yase with my wife?"

Lord Kazama merely raises an eyebrow. "I see that your time away has not dulled your tongue," he says coolly. "But if you insist, I shall enlighten you. Again." He clears his throat as his voice loses power, but the sound soon becomes a cough—the first hint of illness Sen has noted all conversation. However, he recovers just as quickly, and proceeds with his rumbling voice only a little worse for wear.

"I wish to convey more explicitly the duties of a leader and the situation of our clan in general," says Lord Kazama. "Before you left, I bestowed my title upon you, and instructed you in repaying the Satsuma and finding a suitable bride. I should have insisted on saying more, and earlier, but I assumed we would have more time." He levels his piercing gaze at Chikage as if seeing straight through him. "You fulfilled one of the tasks I set before you, but since you rushed off to fulfill the other within mere months of your initial return, I have had to continue governing our village in your absence. Therefore, you still have an incomplete idea of the extent of your duties."

Chikage's eyes flash as his father speaks, and Sen can see all the numerous times he wishes to interrupt written plain across his face, but his pride does not allow his father to put him on the defensive. "Be that as it may, that does _not_ justify lying about your health."

"Would you have responded to my letter so soon, or indeed at all, if it had not been presented as a final request?" counters Lord Kazama, a wry smile twisting the corner of his mouth. Such a sardonic smirk is more frightening even than his scowl. "I am no more patient than you are, and you have already evaded this responsibility more than once. Even if I sent a letter detailing your duties, I have learned never to expect a response. And besides, it is always better to talk of such sensitive matters in person. Surely you must see that; I did not raise a fool."

Chikage bows his head to glare at the floor, and Lord Kazama smiles as if he understands. "Tell me, Chikage. How did you react upon reading that letter? Did you feel any hint of apprehension about inheriting the remainder of your duties without understanding how to perform them, or did your ambition remove any trace of humility?" His eyes bore relentlessly into Chikage's, and Sen is glad for the first time that he is ignoring her so completely. "Or perhaps you were _relieved_ to think that I would be out of the way before long."

"Kazama-san," murmurs his wife in warning or in worry, but does not raise her head as she speaks. In her meek and proper bearing, Sen recognizes the woman Lord Kazama expected his son to wed, and the woman Chikage himself might prefer.

"I reacted as any loyal son should," says Chikage, his voice tense, and his eyes blaze as he stares up at his father again. "With a sense of urgency—a desire to see you before your passing, and to inherit whatever wisdom you chose to bestow in your last moments. But if it means that much to you, I can assure you that the sentiment will _not_ be repeated upon your actual death."

Lord Kazama only gives a somewhat grim smile before his gaze shifts back to Sen again, and she realizes too late that she probably looks as shocked as she feels. However awkward she might have expected this meeting to be, she did not prepare herself for this level of open hostility. "I have much more to say to _you_ , Chikage, but I fear the Princess does not wish to hear the particulars," he says brusquely, nodding to his wife. "Masami, show her out."

It is not a request, but an order, spoken as authoritatively as if to a servant. Masami only bows her head, evidently used to such treatment, and rises as elegantly as she was seated. As she makes her way toward the door, Sen takes her cue and pushes herself anxiously to her feet. Bowing to Lord Kazama as briefly as possible, and casting one more worried glance down at her husband, Sen hurries after his stepmother.

Even as they step out of the hall, Masami seems to become another woman. Her mask of diffident conciliation dissolves, and her body language shifts toward the restless as she straightens up to pace across the courtyard with more dignity. There is a nervous light in her eyes, almost as golden as if she has brought a hint of her demon form into humanity.

Sen does not know what she can possibly say after witnessing a conversation like that; too many thoughts and fears are whirling through her head for her to think straight. Perhaps Masami senses this, because after they turn a few more corners, she stops just outside another room. "Would you care for some tea, my lady?"

Her voice is soft and polite, but her gaze is cool and sharp, like a blade against Sen's throat; there is no real choice here. "That would be lovely, Masami-san," says Sen, and they step through the door. "Thank you. But there is no need for such formal language. I am not your superior." Nor does she have any wish to be, seeing how downtrodden Masami is in her own home.

"No," agrees Masami, signaling a maid as she arrives just in time to close the door. Had she been _following_ them? "But your child will be, someday."

Sen's heart almost stops at the resignation in her tone, and has the strangest urge to apologize, but a response does not appear to be required. Masami simply gestures for Sen to sit, and both of them sink onto cushions, a short but appropriate distance apart. There is a long silence, but at least now there is some semblance of equality, some small possibility of conversation buried deep within it.

"How do you like the village?" asks Masami, peering at Sen's expression a little too closely.

"It's beautiful," murmurs Sen, recalling the sprawling houses and autumn foliage. "From what I have seen of it, the atmosphere reminds me of Yase in many ways." There are some major differences, of course, but she cannot bring herself to think too much of home right now. There is nowhere else she would rather be than her own audience chamber, or perhaps just outside it, watching the sunset.

"It reminds me of my hometown, too," says Masami, sounding distinctly wistful, and Sen wonders how long it has been since she has been able to see it. Even if all Chikage's brothers are significantly younger, she must have been married for at least twenty years, assuming she has lived here ever since becoming Lord Kazama's wife. "Perhaps all demon villages are, at their heart, the same. And perhaps the same applies to demons."

"Perhaps," agrees Sen uncertainly. This latest conflict among humans has revealed more about the differences between demons' hearts than she ever could have anticipated, and she has seen for herself that the ambitions and philosophies within each demon are as disparate as those of humans. But politics are hardly a safe topic of discussion among new acquaintances, so she holds her tongue.

Masami watches Sen's expression the same way she might observe the sky, and she wonders whether her thoughts are visibly taking shape like clouds, but the awkward silence persists until the maid arrives with a tray of hot tea. Then there are soft apologies and softer thanks, and then… she does not leave again, but rather stands respectfully by, ostensibly in case they need her for anything else.

Since Masami ignores servant altogether, Sen tries not to glance her way too often, but finds it difficult to relax with another stranger in the room. After all, in Yase, private conversations are _private_ , even just pleasantries. But apparently, that is not the case here. Still, the tea is undeniably well-brewed and properly served, so she focuses on enjoying that to the best of her ability.

"Have your servants been shown to their quarters yet?" Masami attempts to resume the conversation, and Sen pauses, half startled.

"The situation in Yase is such that I could not afford to bring any of my own attendants with me," confesses Sen, lowering her eyes. One or two may not have made a great difference on Yase's defenses, but she did not want to call too much attention to her party; three was quite enough. "But rest assured that I have no intention of imposing on your own staff."

"Then who will awaken and dress you?" asks Masami, perplexed. "Who will take down your letters and draw your baths?"

"I have always done most of that myself," says Sen, setting down her teacup. Whatever she cannot manage on her own, Chikage can help her do, but that is no longer her place to say. "Please do not worry about me." They both know Masami is not genuinely _worried_ , but it is all Sen can think to say.

Less than an hour in this place has taught her more about Chikage's thought processes than months in Yase, as she is beginning to understand how he developed his need for time to think and reflect. How much longer must she be trapped in a conversation that holds so little meaning for her?

They lapse into another, somewhat unsettled silence, but Masami sees through the lull in their conversation with disconcerting clarity. "If you are wondering how long Chikage will be occupied, I suspect you will be waiting for some time," she says, as Sen finishes her tea. "Thanks to the animosity you had the misfortune to witness, discussions that ought to be short usually last hours. If you would prefer solitude, I can have someone show you to your room."

"I—I did not intend to imply such a thing," says Sen, mortified, and sets down her teacup. "But… thank you, Masami-san. It has been a very long journey."

"I would imagine it has," says Masami, signaling the maid again, and she bows obediently. Getting to her feet as gracefully as possible, Sen exchanges a nod of farewell with Chikage's still-seated stepmother before following the servant out of the room. Something about their conversation feels unfinished, but it seems that there are no further words to say.

Almost a minute passes before they arrive at their destination, but Sen is too distracted by the prospects of being alone to pay much attention to where exactly they are. Everything looks the same in this house, anyway, and she suspects that trying to keep track of the turns they take will only lead to more confusion. "Thank you," is all she can manage, but the maid's only response is a deep bow as Sen opens the door.

But, almost as soon as she steps inside, she realizes that this is not the same room that Katsuro showed them.

The walls are painted with hydrangea, not abstract shades of blue, and Sen's luggage is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Sen and Chikage are expected to stay in different rooms, but she has no intention of doing so after the comfort of so many nights of sleeping next to him. Even if she _wanted_ to, someone would have to fetch her things. The servants probably expected them to have been delivered here already.

Slipping out of the room again, more cautiously than ever, Sen quickly discovers that the maid has disappeared. It might be easier simply to call for another servant and have them guide her, but after having spent so long in the company of strangers, Sen finds herself almost looking forward to the prospects of exploring on her own—even in an unsettling, labyrinthine place like this. Sliding the door shut behind her, she makes her way down the hall, looking around for any landmarks.

As the minutes go by and she encounters no one, her pace slows enough to accommodate her need for a bright side, and she begins to admire the beauty of her surroundings. If nothing else, the architecture is pleasing; the ceilings are high and airy, the paintings on the walls and doors ornate and elegant. If Sen was guaranteed her privacy and some semblance of respect, perhaps she could get used to this place.

But that hopeful train of thought is abruptly derailed as she rounds the corner and almost crashes headlong into someone new.

Before Sen can look up or even apologize, a light and insistent and almost familiar voice pins her to the wall. Judging by that demanding tone, this is no mere servant, and she has overstepped her bounds: "Who are _you_ , and what are you doing here?"


	10. changes

Home is the _last_ place Chikage wants to be.

Ordinarily, he would have made that clearer to his father, even if it took several hours to emphasize his disgust—but his hands are tied more tightly than ever. There was no way he could permit this audience to go on for longer than absolutely necessary after Sen was unexpectedly taken from his side. She may have requested to come along to the Kazama village, but Chikage knows better than to think that means she is prepared to deal with his family one-on-one in any way.

He supposes a part of that is his fault for not telling Sen more about them, and sooner, but the damage has already been done. Sen's patient willingness to believe the best of everyone is unlikely to work in her favor for as long as she is here. If Lord Kazama has a heart, it seems to be set on undermining her authority through various intimidation tactics. Subtle though the danger may be, sending her away with Masami was akin to throwing a cat into a tiger's den, and Sen cannot recognize that element of risk while she is still so new to these surroundings.

To make matters worse, the price for walking away from that audience so soon was a steep one. Ever since Sen advised him to adapt to the situation as it changes, Chikage has thought of today as a sort of act, an experiment in insincerity—never lying outright, yet presenting himself as the man they think he is. Thus, he has made every effort to adhere to his family's expectations of his priorities, setting Sen and her needs aside in their presence.

But the situation has already changed beyond what Chikage could have imagined. He thought that the preliminary audience with his father would be a brief one: some introductions and a much-needed explanation, followed by the opportunity to explain things to Sen now that she had at least a little context. He never anticipated that they would be separated before he had the chance to answer her questions more completely.

And Lord Kazama sensed that unrest.

He may understand little, but he notices everything. The moment Sen left, he observed the frustration and concern Chikage has never been able to hide, and in that instant, it was all too evident that he could see straight through his son. His taunting words echo through his head once more— _that woman has made quite an impact on you, hasn't she?_ —before Chikage shakes himself violently back to the present. There is no use in dwelling on his failure. The most important thing right now is finding Sen.

Stalking through the halls, Chikage rounds a corner a little more quickly than usual and almost runs into his stepmother. "Masami," he greets tersely, and she dips her head, masking her astonishment with difficulty. There is no need to refer to her by any title. She may be his father's wife, but she is no mother of his, and he outranks her. "Where is my wife?"

"She requested to be alone," says Masami, somehow looking him full in the face without meeting his eyes. (But then, she has _never_ quite met his eyes.) "I told Yua to take her to her room."

"Her room," repeats Chikage.

"Why, of course," says Masami, blinking a couple times as if innocent. "Since the princess has never visited the village before, I assigned her the hydrangea suite. It is far enough removed from the family chambers that she may maintain her distance if she so chooses, and I am sure she will want for nothing there."

By the time Masami finishes speaking, Chikage is already moving. She had no right to take her there, to have a maid lead her through the palace to a room of her choosing. Sen is alone in unfamiliar territory, and as her husband, he should be the one to guide her through it. How dare they subvert his authority in such a way; how dare they endanger her!

But, Chikage adds to himself, for the sake of calming down, at least Sen had the good sense to act in her own best interests for once. He doubts her alleged request for solitude was a literal one. Unless she is addressing _him_ , she is generally courteous to a fault. More likely, Masami acted on one of her hunches and sent her away under the guise of compassion.

Upon his arrival at the hydrangea suite, Chikage throws open the door before he so much as remembers to announce his presence. However, he soon discovers that the room is empty, and he swallows a curse. Either Masami has taken a leaf out of her husband's book and broadened her definition of truth, or Sen has departed again.

Pausing to take a deep breath, Chikage attempts to clear his mind and think where she might have gone. Assuming there is no foul play involved on his family's part—which he cannot _entirely_ rule out at this point—Sen may have left to find his bedroom. Backing out of the room again and closing the door, more softly now, Chikage turns his feet toward his family's chambers.

As he progresses, he becomes conscious of muffled arguing, and heaves a sigh. His brother is probably raising hell over some minor offense again. He never did learn to control either his temper or his volume. But the female voice that responds is too familiar to be that of a servant, and Chikage halts, listening more carefully. As another indistinct exchange reaches his ears, lightning shoots through his body.

 _Sen_.

Lengthening his stride, Chikage follows the hallway and the conversation around a few more corners until he arrives at the scene of the confrontation. It is surprisingly near his room; to her credit, Sen found her way almost back to his room before one of his brothers ambushed her. Now, she stands a short distance from the wall, posture rigid, as though willing herself not to flatten herself against it in light of her brother-in-law's verbal onslaught.

Yoshiaki has always looked uncomfortably like Chikage, as though he peers into a mirror of his younger self. He has the same blond hair in a similar style, if a little longer; the same light skin; and almost the same stature—perhaps an inch or so shorter. But his eyes are a burning orange, like sunset, and they are directed at Sen in an unrelenting glare, full of such hatred that she looks ready to faint.

"Yoshiaki," says Chikage, striding forward. His brother tenses upon the instant, and Sen starts, swaying slightly in place. She must be shaken indeed, for her fatigue to be so readily evident. "Stand down."

Yoshiaki turns his head slowly to look at Chikage, then takes a couple steps back. "Brother," he greets stiffly, then jerks his head at Sen. "This woman was wandering our halls freely, without announcing herself. I took it upon myself to appreh—"

"That is my _wife_ ," interrupts Chikage, and Yoshiaki freezes. "Did she not tell you?"

"I tried, but he didn't believe me, and it isn't as though I have proof," says Sen, looking at Yoshiaki sideways. She cannot disguise a note of distaste in her voice, taut with anxiety. "Perhaps you could introduce us properly, Chikage-san?"

"Certainly," says Chikage coldly, as Yoshiaki frowns in confusion at the use of his given name. Evidently, his expectations of how she should treat him mirror his father's. "Sen, this is the eldest of my younger brothers, Kazama Yoshiaki." Bowing hastily, Yoshiaki eyes Sen with some wariness.

"Yoshiaki, this is my wife, Sen," continues Chikage, and she bows as well. "Princess of Yase, and evidently a more honorable demon than _you_. Be sure to take her at her word next time." Sen stares between the two of them as a muscle in Yoshiaki's jaw tightens, but Chikage does not give his brother the chance to retort. "Did Katsuro not inform you that she had come with me?"

"Katsuro told me _you_ had arrived, but you know how he is," says Yoshiaki, his tone accusatory. "I'd hardly looked up before he was gone again. I didn't have the chance to ask about any of the particulars."

"Sen," says Chikage, glancing back at her. "Go on ahead; our room is just around the next corner. I'd like to have a word with my dear brother." Sen takes one more hesitant look between Chikage and Yoshiaki, then nods and departs in a hurry—barely remembering to bow an appropriate farewell. She must be beyond flustered if standard etiquette is beginning to slip her mind.

After Sen disappears around the corner, and Chikage hears the telltale sound of a sliding door, he rounds on Yoshiaki again. As their eyes lock, his brother's fingers automatically move up to his face in a defensive gesture, tracing the faint white scar stretching horizontally across his cheek. It is barely visible in this light, but the motion to conceal it has become instinctive over the years.

Chikage cannot blame him: demons are not meant to have scars, especially not a Kazama. Their bodies, like their souls, are supposed to be unblemished. Almost six years passed between the time Chikage gave his brother that scar and the time he returned to see the damage, and it has been another two since then, but he remembers well the first time they met upon his homecoming. The first time he noticed Yoshiaki's instinct to hide his face.

 _Are you so ashamed?_ he asked. _You drew first._

 _I was a boy,_ insisted Yoshiaki.

 _Oh?_ returned Chikage. _I was under the impression you'd declared yourself a man not ten minutes before, with the sole intent of challenging me to a duel._

Yoshiaki grit his teeth. _And you accepted. My own brother, and the new leader of our clan, and you still took the time to draw the Demonslayer on me before you left. Sometimes people say things they don't mean when they're angry._

Chikage shook his head. _Not in this family._ _Did Father never teach you the importance of standing by your word and accepting the consequences, like an honorable demon?_ Chikage certainly had: their father had confiscated the Demonslayer as punishment. Of course, Chikage had never wanted to take it with him anyway. He needed no such powerful artifact to dispose of humans.

 _I was angry,_ said Yoshiaki. _I still am. Because this scar… made that anger a part of me._

His brother's assertion from long ago rings through the silence in the present, and Chikage sees in Yoshiaki's effort to lower his hand that he is recalling the same conversation. But he says only, "What do you want?"

"I _want_ to know why you were harassing my wife," says Chikage, returning his bluntness in kind. "Surely you at least recalled her existence, even if her arrival here was unexpected. And you must have recognized that she is too richly dressed, and too open about her presence, to be an intruder." He meets Yoshiaki's eyes intently. "Yet you didn't believe her, when she offered a plausible explanation?"

Yoshiaki flushes, and Chikage knows he has hit the mark. _He_ never learned to lie, either, but still he tries. "N-no," he says, unable to hold his gaze for long. "It's late, and I had been going to retire. My head isn't clear."

"Your head is never clear when the same roof is over both our heads," points out Chikage, exasperated. "If you have something to say, take it up with me yourself; I'll thank you not to involve Sen in our quarrels. The best way to ensure that she keeps to herself is to keep to yourself as well."

Though Yoshiaki opens his mouth to retort, he seems to realize that acknowledging his point will also admit his guilt, and shuts it with a snap before turning and walking away. Chikage lets him leave, watching his back retreat around the corner, then storms to his room. This evening has been messy enough already without lengthening arguments that will already extend through his entire stay.

Almost as soon as Chikage closes the door behind him, Sen runs forward and throws her arms around him, and he realizes that her body is trembling from the effort of holding back sobs. Blinking a few times in surprise, he rests a tentative hand on her shaking shoulder. He has never dealt especially well with tears, especially unexpected ones like these.

"What's this?"

Rather than explain, Sen only shakes her head, pressing her face into his chest. "Please, Chikage-san," she says, her voice muffled by his kimono. "Just hold me for now." And, though Chikage does not understand what that will accomplish, he has little choice but to obey.

They stand still for some time as she cries softly into his chest, and he finds himself wondering at this evidence of the connection between them. It was not too long ago that Sen might have tried to conceal her misery, or sent him away to weep in peace. For her, these tears are not a sign of weakness, but of the strength of her feeling. And she has chosen to entrust Chikage with this emotional vulnerability.

Yet something in the familiarity of their embrace tells him that Sen made that decision long ago, and this is merely the first time he has recognized it as such. He should have seen it in her infinite patience, in her growing willingness to compromise and accommodate, in her steadfast support. And perhaps he should have reciprocated, if only he knew how.

After all, Chikage has felt from the beginning how different Sen is from his family; he should be safe with her. If there was one thing his brother did right, however unintentionally, it was to bring to light that contrast, and force him to recognize what he should have seen long ago—to reshuffle his priorities, reflecting his position in _her_ life more than his own. He is momentarily ashamed of his blindness, but cannot afford to dwell on it for now. What is done has been done. All he can do is move forward, and take Sen with him.

In that moment, Chikage's role solidifies once and for all as he recognizes his true mission here in his village. As obvious as it seems in retrospect, he must act as a living bridge between his family and his wife, standing firmly in the present to extend between his past and his future without fully becoming either. So it seems this momentous decision is not so complicated as he has made it after all: Chikage chooses both.

Sen's breathing halts, and he discovers that he has begun holding her a little more tightly. Though he thinks for a panicked moment that he is constricting her, and relaxes accordingly, he realizes as she lets out a long shuddering exhalation that she has begun calming down. Perhaps she has sensed his conclusion, as her breathing gradually evens and deepens to match his.

They do not move again for some time, standing in silence broken by only the occasional sniffle. But eventually, Chikage dares to speak, and clears his throat quietly so as not to startle Sen. "Are you going to tell me what has distressed you so?"

She steps back, sensible of the shift in conversation, and Chikage finds himself surprisingly reluctant to let go. "E-everything," says Sen, not meeting his eyes. "All at once. I feel so far from home, and… far from _you_."

Chikage frowns. "You can see and feel that I stand before you," he says, taking her hand somewhat tentatively and resting it over his heart. It seems he needs that physical sense of connection as much as she does. "Is this not proof enough that I am near?"

"I can feel your heart beating, but I cannot touch it," says Sen, looking away, though she does not take back her hand. "I have always done my best to talk to you, but you have never tried to do the same. At this point, I am tempted to stop trying. Every time I think I understand you, it seems you distance yourself again. I no longer know how I should approach you."

Ordinarily, Chikage might deny it, and Sen even pauses as though waiting for his interjection—removing her hand from his chest, as though having forgotten it was there—but he says nothing. What explanation can he possibly offer? She speaks the truth, and they both know that now.

Sen seems equal parts surprised and comforted by his lack of response, and her voice becomes calmer as she continues. "Over the course of our journey, you arrived at your own conclusion, but you never shared it with me," she says. "And, though you may have discovered your place, I seem to have lost track of mine."

Chikage hesitates, lowering his eyes. He has no excuse. "Had I known my silence would affect you so adversely, I might have explained myself sooner," he says, forcing the words out with difficulty. "As it happened, I was too preoccupied with determining my own role to consider yours at much length." Which of course meant nothing until he followed her advice, and took the reality of the situation into account. "I… I apologize."

He makes an effort to look Sen full in the face, but this is made more difficult as she stares at him. "You… what?"

Letting out a short breath, Chikage looks away again. He might have known she would take advantage of his good nature. "You heard me."

"Chikage-san," murmurs Sen, curious eyes lingering on his face. "You've changed."

"Tell me something I don't know," says Chikage, coloring slightly. "That's precisely the _problem_ , in case you've forgotten." Though it seems significantly less of one now, his own crisis close to resolved. In light of Sen's tears, tangible evidence of her depth of suffering, his own petty trials do not seem so insurmountable.

"I haven't forgotten," says Sen, studying his countenance. "But, if I may speak plainly…" She pauses as though waiting for permission, so Chikage nods once to grant it. "The truth is so ingrained in you that it is always obvious whenever you so much as twist it. I honestly don't understand what you hoped to accomplish."

Sen's unexpected (and perhaps unintentional) compliment distracts Chikage for a moment before her meaning hits, and he crosses his arms uncomfortably. Now that he has grasped his situation more completely, and felt for himself his true priority, he finds it difficult to trace his original line of thinking.

"I had hoped to convince my family, as truthfully as possible, that their priorities are still mine above all," he says eventually. "I knew that claiming my birthright was an inevitability, but I intended to conceal my reluctance for as long as possible. However…" Chikage pauses to gather his thoughts briefly. "As I told you once before, your presence is disruptive. My father noticed and removed you from my side, doubtless to test both our reactions."

Sen eyes him sharply. "And how _did_ you react?"

Finding it suddenly difficult to meet her searching gaze, Chikage narrows his eyes at the nearest wall. "I had little choice but to end our audience at my earliest opportunity. I couldn't leave you in Masami's hands for longer than absolutely necessary."

"You didn't have to do that!" bursts out Sen, with surprising vehemence. "I know how much you agonized over how you should act during our stay, as well as how deeply you care about fulfilling your duties. There was no need for you to interrupt such an important audience for my sake!"

"Prolonging that encounter would only have devolved into another pointless argument, like every other conversation my father and I have had in living memory," says Chikage, scowling. "A fact which I made sure to point out by way of explanation. Prioritizing your well-being was a risk I was willing to take, and make no mistake, it was _very_ carefully calculated. And, given Yoshiaki's behavior, it seems to have paid off."

Sen flutters her lashes in apparent shock. "But why should you…"

As she trails off aimlessly, Chikage rolls his eyes at her incredulity. "Do you really think so little of your husband, Sen?" he demands. "How could any honorable demon leave his wife to fend for herself in an unfamiliar environment?"

Sen has no response to this, and Chikage allows himself a smile of satisfaction as she recognizes her defeat. "In any case," he continues, more calmly, "you shouldn't trouble yourself with my situation. I made my bed, and now I must lie in it. You never had that luxury."

"Then I will share yours, Chikage-san," says Sen softly, caressing his face. "As thanks for your attempt to rescue me, however misguided."

Relaxing into her touch despite himself, Chikage raises his hand to rest atop hers. " _Misguided_?" he echoes, sliding his other arm around her shoulders. "I'll remember you said that next time Yoshiaki corners you."

"Must there really be a next time, dear husband?" asks Sen, pushing herself off his chest to look up at him, and a faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Perhaps, in attending to me instead of your father, you have drawn enough of your family's ire that I can avoid it."

"You should be so lucky," says Chikage. "If I must confine myself to the role they have arranged for me, I'd rather you at least be allowed to act as yourself. So they can see the kind of woman I married, and know why I have changed." It was not long ago that Chikage might have insisted that they sink or swim together, but his wife does not deserve the sense of discontent to which he has become accustomed.

Sen laughs feebly. "But what kind of woman _did_ you marry, Chikage-san?" she asks, her tone weary yet somehow harsher than usual—the unmistakable sound of resentment directed inwards. "And where does she fit in the Kazama clan?"

"By my side," growls Chikage, gathering Sen close, and chooses to ignore her first question. He is not entirely confident he can answer it. "But make no mistake, my family will dispute that at every turn. Each of them has proven themselves capable of casting doubt on even the brightest certainty."

Sen lets out a little sigh of humorous resignation. "Shall I write out my will, then?"

It feels better than Chikage anticipated to see her spirits lifted again, and he smiles as he shakes his head. "If anything were to happen to the Princess of Yase under the Kazama clan's watch, we would never be trusted again. My family may be… _difficult_ , but they are still honorable demons. Although I understand that Yoshiaki's behavior may make that difficult to believe."

"Then what do they mean to accomplish by antagonizing me?" asks Sen, frowning. "And what is their aim in reprimanding you?"

"Most likely, they intend to convince one of us or the other that it would be in our best interests to break our agreement."

Sen tilts her head. "Not too long ago, they might have succeeded."

"Oh?" asks Chikage, intrigued. "What changed?"

"I told you once already," says Sen. " _You_ changed. But it's too late to ask for clarification now," she adds, almost hastily, and sinks to the floor as if in embarrassment. (More likely, it is simply because they have spent so long standing.) "You didn't want to hear it earlier, as I recall."

Chikage sits down as well. "That has changed, too."

To his utter astonishment, Sen laughs. Perhaps it is only out of exhaustion, but it feels genuine enough, and Chikage marvels at its musical tone. How often has he heard her laugh before—really _laugh_? The sound sets him at peace in a way he does not understand, but he refuses to question it. They deserve a little levity, after all they have been through.

As Sen's giggle ebbs away, they settle into silence, but the air between them feels still and calm, a stark and welcome contrast from the usual nameless tension. Having relied on her support far more than he has ever recognized before, and having been shaken back out of the midst of his self-imposed complications, he is now far better equipped to help her navigate his ancestral home.

"What did your father say?"

The question surprises Chikage, and he peers at Sen more closely. "Why do you want to know? You did say you weren't here for political influence."

"And I spoke the truth," says Sen. "I have little to gain by interfering in your family's affairs, and they have made it more than clear that my very _existence_ is not appreciated. But if there's anything that affects us both…"

"There's nothing."

"Even if it only affects you, Chikage-san," presses Sen. "You _are_ my husband."

Chikage pauses, disarmed at her insistence, but shakes his head. "There really is nothing. He simply started lecturing me on my clan's current situation, and that I must learn to manage our people. A rephrasing of every letter he's ever sent."

"I see," says Sen. "And you talked back to him for my sake?"

Judging by the guarded curiosity in her eyes, she speaks of some specific instance, likely Chikage's insistent defense when his father insinuated that she was unworthy. He would do it again, of course, but he finds it remarkably difficult to own the reasoning behind his backtalk. "As well as my own. You could have been safely back in Yase, and I'd still have loathed every minute he spoke to me. Truthfully, I am glad I had an excuse to cut our meeting short."

Sen shakes her head, although her expression is one of amusement. "That is one part of you I doubt I will ever understand."

"Did you never have to listen to your council lecture you on your duties and expectations?" asks Chikage, frowning. Given Sen's status as the princess of Yase, he'd have expected them to be excruciatingly clear about how she must run the village, and whom she must marry, and the nuance of demon customs.

"All the time," says Sen, smiling at some memory. "But I was also raised to respect my elders, and I have no doubt it was the same for you. How can you speak so disrespectfully to your own father?"

Chikage tosses her a scornful look. "The only way to get my father to indicate his true motivation is to shock him. And over the years, the best way I've found to do so is to play the part and then turn it around. The moment he respects me enough to hold a straightforward conversation in the first place is the moment I stop opposing him."

"I never realized how rebellious you really are."

"I'm rebellious?" exclaims Chikage. " _He's_ an equivocator."

"I confess that much was a surprise," says Sen, lowering her eyes, and her smile vanishes. "I know how much you hate lies, not to mention liars. I had assumed your family had been the ones to instill that in you."

"They _were_ ," says Chikage. "Unfortunately, my family's definition of lying does not always extend to bending the truth. Nothing my father says is ever a lie—not even his letter, if you look at the wording. Everything he says and does is based on implications." Lord Kazama prefers to work on his audience's minds rather than confront them directly, manipulating them with their own assumptions.

They lapse into another silence, less comfortable this time, but this restlessness feels distinctly different than the kind that arose from their own arguments. This is an unease originating from outside themselves, serving to drive them closer together as a united front against oppressive circumstances. Even understanding from the beginning that his loyalties were beginning to shift, Chikage never imagined that a simple sense of alliance could feel so comforting.

"How long will we be staying here?" asks Sen tentatively, not quite meeting his eyes as she breaks the silence a second time. Is she homesick already?

Thinking on it, Chikage does not blame her. He misses Yase, too. "Now that I know my father is _not_ on his deathbed after all… I don't know. Hopefully not long, but he unfortunately has a point. If I am to rule my clan someday, I must learn how."

"I suppose you're right," says Sen, stifling a yawn. Struggling not to catch it, Chikage realizes suddenly just how long the day has been. They have not eaten in a long time, but something tells him that Sen does not have an appetite yet, and he can certainly forgo a single meal to keep her company. And besides that, she looks absolutely exhausted.

"We should retire for the night," says Chikage, herding Sen toward his futon, and though she moves only slowly, she does not resist. "I'm sure there will be more than enough time to talk in the morning."

"Yes," agrees Sen, her voice a murmur. "Thank you, Chikage-san. I feel… much better, now." Her words are warm, and they share an instinctive smile. Chikage has the strangest urge to return her sentiment, but if his earlier apology was cause for such shock, his gratitude might render her catatonic. Instead, he simply nods, and the two of them undress as one.

Evidently, Chikage does not need to tell Sen that he has no designs on her body tonight; his fatigue must be just as readily obvious. Leaving her last layer on, she slides into his bed without another word, and Chikage—stripped down to his own nagajuban—follows. With his wife in his arms, having grown used to her soft and soothing heat, he finds it remarkably easy to slip into dreamless slumber.

But by the time he surfaces again, Sen is gone, a note in her place. _I was too hungry to sleep any longer._ _I intend to eat with the servants if at all possible, so please do not worry about me. But if all else fails, I trust that you will rescue me again_. Her handwriting is not hurried, but she left the note unsigned.

Running an agitated hand through his hair, Chikage grumbles under his breath, and launches into his morning routine in a hurry. Hungry or not, Sen should know better than to wander off like that, especially after yesterday's adventure. He appreciates her vote of confidence, to be sure, but in a household like this, it is altogether too easy to get ahead of oneself.

Stepping out of his room, Chikage heads in the general direction of the kitchen, keeping an ear out for the sound of Sen's voice along the way. Once he catches it, he finds that she sounds much less distressed this time, and the answering party is far from accusatory. Following the voices to their sources in the dining hall, he finds her deep in conversation with another of his brothers. (So much for eating with the servants.)

"Takahiro," greets Chikage. "I see you've already met my wife."

"I have," says Takahiro, inclining his head in a polite greeting. "And I must say, based on what little Father told us, I never imagined her to be such a fine lady. Perhaps he might have been more accepting had he known from the beginning that she carries herself so well."

"He granted us an audience last night," says Chikage, seating himself beside his nonplussed wife. "Yet his mind is unchanged."

"Of course it is," says Takahiro, tilting his head. "You know how much Father likes to be right."

"In any case, you needn't compliment Sen's appearance to _me_ ," says Chikage. He considers himself well-acquainted with her physical virtues at this point. "She sits across from you, Takahiro. If you mean what you say, then say it to her face."

Takahiro smiles. "You are among the loveliest ladies I have ever beheld, Princess," he says, eyes alighting on her face. "I cannot imagine a worthier match for my brother."

As Takahiro speaks, Sen flushes faintly, taken aback, and Chikage fights back a laugh as she fidgets with her kimono. He had no idea her reactions to compliments could be so entertaining; he should try it himself sometime.

But, though Sen opens her mouth, she does not have the chance to say anything. "I see you're as quick to offer praise as always, Takahiro," remarks Yoshiaki, glowering into his teacup.

"I've heard it said that guests are meant to be made _welcome_ in one's house, Brother," returns Takahiro, turning his head, and though his tone is light and conversational, Chikage can feel the tension snapped taut between them. "But if you insist, I suppose I could try it your way instead…"

"No need," interrupts Yoshiaki, the color rising to his cheeks. Word has always traveled quickly in this house, though it is more likely that Takahiro was listening in himself. Sen smiles to herself, and Chikage takes a moment to admire her. Takahiro has always been many things, but he is almost never _wrong_ , and now is no exception. She really is a worthy match.

Realizing that Takahiro is observing him and his expression carefully, Chikage glances back over at him again to let him know that his mental note-taking is not going unnoticed. "Where is Katsuro?"

"Most likely running around the village," says Takahiro, as servants finally bring in their meal. "He hardly ever comes to breakfast as it is." Chikage hears his silent addition: _and he is even less likely to come now that you are here_. Katsuro has always been deathly afraid of Chikage, after all.

Sen accepts her platter with a smile of thanks. "I don't see why. The food looks delicious."

"So it is," agrees Takahiro, and begins eating. "But Katsuro has more of a problem with the company than the meal, I think. He seems to like the village folk better than his own family." Digging into his own food, Chikage for one could not blame him, but knew better than to say as much.

The rest of breakfast passes without event or even conversation. Once Sen and Chikage finish their food, somewhat more quickly than the others due to skipping dinner last night, Takahiro at least has the courtesy to bid Sen goodbye—expressing once again how nice it was to meet her, and receiving polite praise in kind—but Yoshiaki remains sullenly still and silent. That is nothing new; he has always been touchy.

But really, if Chikage's brothers haven't changed, so much the better. They will be all the easier to deal with if they are the same as he remembers.

"Where are we going now?"

Chikage deliberates for a moment. "Anywhere you like. There are several courtyards I find soothing, as well as a clearing in the part of the forest nearest the house. I used to sneak there sometimes as a child, when I needed some time alone." It was one of the only safe spaces he had ever found in his own village. Ironic that Sen's village, which his family would have him believe houses a nest of spies, feels so much more secure.

"Or we could return to _our_ room." Theirs, not just his. Chikage flushes at Sen's implication, glancing around. The walls here have ears, but he supposes that Takahiro is probably still busy with breakfast, so most conversations should be safe enough. "Don't look at me like that," adds Sen, and smiles again. "I only meant that I didn't sleep well last night, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you did either."

Chikage opens his mouth to insist that he never thought she meant anything _else_ , but a maid's soft and deferent voice cuts in. "Excuse me—Sen-hime," she says, and they freeze, turning at the unexpected interruption. Perhaps Takahiro isn't the only one they should worry about after all. "Kazama-sama wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

"Me?" asks Sen, though that particular question is rhetorical, and she immediately clarifies: "Alone?"

The maid nods, and Sen glances up at Chikage for help. He scowls, rubbing the bridge of his nose. What can Lord Kazama want with her now? He supposes there can be no way to find out but to let her heed the summons, and pray her newfound confidence holds out. "Go," he says, and Sen nods. "And tell me what he says later."


	11. elders

As soon as Sen enters the great hall, Lord Kazama's voice rumbles through it like thunder. "I see you came alone after all," he says, sounding the slightest bit impressed. "I half thought my son would insist on accompanying you."

Sen takes a deep breath to center herself as servants close the grand doors behind her. "Both of us are curious as to why you summoned me alone," she says, seating herself as gracefully as she can. Perhaps Lord Kazama thinks her less likely to lie if her husband is not present. "But both of us also know that I have no right to bring along an uninvited guest. And I trust that you will not give me a reason to regret that."

Lord Kazama inclines his head, but says nothing, studying Sen in disquieting silence. His impassive expression and cool gaze set her on edge, and he does not meet her eyes even when she looks him full in the face. It is as though he is staring straight through her, seeing everything she keeps hidden even from herself, and there is no longer anyone to draw his attention away.

After a long and increasingly more restless pause, Sen dares to speak again. "I was under the impression that you wished to _talk_ to me, Kazama-sama. Have you anything to say, or shall I return once you have collected your thoughts?"

"That will not be necessary," says Lord Kazama, shaking his head slowly, but his response is swift enough that Sen knows he was waiting for her to say something first. That was another test, then. "Forgive me; I only wished to look upon the woman my son married, without interruption this time. It may be that through observing you, I might better understand his behavior."

"I see."

"Do you?" asks Lord Kazama, shifting in place, and his eyes harden into glinting rubies. "Then perhaps you might enlighten me, for there is much about the nature of your relationship I do _not_ see. For, from what I have heard, your initial proposal to my son was that you bear him an heir without any lasting connection between our clans."

"It was."

"My son refused you."

"He did."

"Yet, less than a year later, he made you an _extremely_ generous offer of marriage," says Lord Kazama, his eyes now suspicious slits. "Chikage has always been headstrong, but he has never been a fool. Yet his decision to bind our family to yours was reckless indeed." He raises his head imperiously. "What have you done to him?"

"Excuse me?" asks Sen, scowling. "Chikage-san acted in what he believed were both of our best interests. As I recall, he believed bearing a child out of wedlock to be improper, and therefore a risk to both his status and yours."

"And Chikage should know that where demons are concerned, the need for progeny outweighs all conventional propriety," snaps Lord Kazama.

"Then perhaps you should have this discussion _with_ your son," says Sen, as patiently as she can. "I have little to do with his decision. I would gladly have gone through with my original offer, but I was severely outnumbered and had no choice but to concede." She looks him sharply in the eye. "Your council approved the match as unanimously as mine, Kazama-sama."

"But his family did not."

"Yet you did not tell him so directly," returns Sen. "Not even upon our engagement. I know you kept up correspondence with my husband, however loosely, but the first news we heard of your disapproval was from Shiranui Kyo."

"That meddlesome fool," mutters Lord Kazama, his already dour expression darkening still further. "He is determined to ruin us."

"Unless you mean to ask us to divorce like humans," continues Sen, "which would undoubtedly be shameful for both our clans, it is too late to protest now. Forgive me, but if you had so many opportunities to voice your objections, one must assume you have some reason for allowing our marriage to proceed. Perhaps I am a suitable scapegoat, and you intend to blame my influence—directly or indirectly—for his rebelliousness."

Lord Kazama glances at her in exactly the same sudden sharp way his son does, and Sen knows she is right. "I did _not_ have a chance to explain my disapproval. Chikage acted on his own, and left the village the moment the council informed him of their decision."

"And you could not stop him?"

"By the time we learned the extent of his intentions, he had already departed for Yase to propose to you," says Lord Kazama. "Disputing that decision directly would not only have no effect on such a headstrong boy, but would likely cause him to distance himself still further from his rightful place."

"Then I suppose that is why you are disputing that decision directly to _me_ ," returns Sen tartly. "In any case, my husband has made it more than clear by now that he did not wish to marry me either, but it seems your council pressured him to do so. If our union is so undesirable that you must blame someone, I am inclined to say they are more apt targets."

Lord Kazama chuckles humorlessly. "His council pressured him to _marry_ ," he corrects her. "They made no other specifications. Even if he did not wish to marry you, he still interpreted their words in such a way, and made that decision of his own free will." Lord Kazama smiles faintly as Sen finds herself unable to conceal her reflexive astonishment. "Does this surprise you?"

"I…" Sen pauses, somewhat resentfully. There is no sense in denying it to someone so perceptive, and lying about even the smallest thing would only convince Lord Kazama that she is capable of lying about everything else. "I confess it does."

"Chikage could just as easily have chosen Yukimura Chizuru," says Lord Kazama, and Sen's heart skips a beat at the unexpected mention of her friend. "I have been informed that your bargain with my son was primarily to… ah… _protect_ her. Yet, even after refusing your offer, my son later chose to marry you." Lord Kazama angles his chin up slightly to look even farther down on Sen. "I will ask you once more. What have you done to him?"

The question is a barbed one, but that is not what troubles Sen most. Given Chikage's distant relationship with his father, she doubts he bothered detailing the reasons behind his choices. And, while Amagiri witnessed their bargain firsthand, he is not the kind of demon to speak so freely of others' business. "Who is this informant?"

Though Lord Kazama meets Sen's eyes, he does not betray any of his thoughts as he responds. "You do not deny that you interfered with my son's original goal, then?" he asks… but in refusing to answer her question, he confirms Sen's suspicions. Had Chikage truly been the one to tell him, Lord Kazama would undoubtedly have exploited that breach of trust.

Of course, the fact that he is _not_ the source is troubling as well, but there is no time to dwell on that.

"I have no reason to deny it," says Sen, firmly. "Chikage-san's behavior at the time did not suit a demon of his breeding, and I am capable of providing willingly what he would have had to take from Yukimura-san by force." Something tells Sen that it is best not to reveal how close she is to Chizuru emotionally. Like as not, Lord Kazama does not consider friendship a valid motivation.

"But at a greater cost to our clan," says Lord Kazama dismissively. "Chikage had every right and reason to take the head of the Yukimura clan as his wife, integrate our families, and produce even more powerful demons without so much as a drop of human blood in their veins. You, Sen-hime, have led him astray."

Sen takes a breath. If what Chikage said before is true, the purity of her blood is not the primary reason for his family's disfavor, given that she has only a single human ancestor. It is simply a matter of convenience, enabling Lord Kazama to compare her unfavorably to Chizuru without having to dig too deep for flaws.

"With all due respect, Kazama-sama, what might have been has little effect on what is now," says Sen, understanding for the first time why Chikage prefers to avoid considering the past. "The truth is, I don't know why your son chose to marry me. But regardless of Yukimura-san's virtues and my shortcomings, your son has made his decision and intends to stand by it." She looks Lord Kazama in the eye. "As do I."

"Tell me," says Lord Kazama, straightening his back. "You must have had more than one prospective husband. Out of all possible matches you could have made, what compelled you to accept a man you loathe?"

" _Loathe_?" asks Sen, frowning. Even considering their initial power struggle, and their lack of basic affinity for one another, that seemed like a strong word. Distasteful as she found his behavior in the beginning, she could never afford to loathe Chikage.

"I have heard that your first meeting went… less than smoothly," says Lord Kazama delicately, and Sen narrows her eyes. Whoever his informants are, they are _extraordinarily_ well-informed. "And earlier still, when Amagiri scouted out all likely prospects, my son dismissed you as a marriage candidate out of hand. Given those circumstances…"

"Even for demons, much can change over five years, Kazama-sama," says Sen, almost interrupting. "And in any case, you should know better than anyone else that personal feelings are irrelevant compared to the well-being of a clan leader's people. By forging a connection between our families, and preserving our power, we ensure the best for both our villages."

Lord Kazama shakes his head. "For centuries, the people of Yase have answered to the humans' emperor. Currently, their court is in the hands of the Satsuma domain, to which the Kazama clan owed a debt until recently. And Chikage was the one to repay it." His eyes blaze. "Because of his connection to you, our clan will never be free of the humans' influence."

Sen purses her lips. Revealing that her clan's relations with the humans are no longer as peaceful as before will only give Lord Kazama more reason to doubt her competence. And, since he may yet prove a threat in some way, entrusting him with such confidential information would be unwise. Still, Sen feels she must say something to try and assuage his concerns.

"The people of Yase have _cooperated_ with the emperor, true," says Sen. "But the affairs of humans and demons are still separate. Furthermore, our agreement is no longer mutually beneficial, so we intend to withdraw from human eyes just as you have."

"Lies," snaps Lord Kazama, almost before Sen finishes speaking, and she stares at him, too incredulous even to be outraged. "Your affairs are not, nor have they ever been, separate. The current emperor's mother spent some years in your village, and the court officials know Yase's exact location and defense. It will not be possible for you to slip from their grasp now, and tying our clan to yours prevents us from making a clean break as well."

Finding herself at a loss as to how to answer, Sen gazes at Lord Kazama for a moment. It was easy enough to guess that his disapproval stems primarily from concern for his son and his clan, but she did not anticipate this depth of suspicion—almost to the point of paranoia. Whether he is jumping to conclusions, or whether someone played on his fears to give him the wrong impression, the result is the same: he is more than willing to believe the worst of her.

What worries Sen most is that Lord Kazama is not entirely wrong, though of course she cannot admit as much. But that does not mean she will take his implications lying down. "You're afraid of me, Kazama-sama," says Sen, and Lord Kazama freezes. "Or rather, you fear what I represent. You fear inevitable change, beyond the scope of all your careful planning. You fear the things you cannot control."

"Mind your tone, Princess," says Lord Kazama, narrowing his bloodred eyes in a veiled glare. "Your influence means little in these halls."

"Mind my tone?" echoes Sen, scowling. He has certainly not minded his! "You may be my elder, but my family outranks even yours, Kazama- _sama_. Your words are civil, but we both know your meaning is anything but." She pushes herself to her feet. "I trust you have seen enough of me for now?"

"More than enough, thank you," says Lord Kazama, his tone icy enough to make a lesser woman shiver from the cold. (Has Masami grown accustomed to this chill, or has she learned to avoid eliciting such frigid responses?)

"Then I am not obligated to tolerate your insults any longer," says Sen, bowing briefly. "Excuse me."

Her tone is shorter than usual, but she departs with dignity, albeit momentarily unnerved by the servants that open the doors again. In the heat of the moment, she forgot that even private audiences are not truly private in this place. Sen strides forward until she hears the doors close again, then stops across the courtyard as she tries to determine where to go next.

This place is larger than her own residence, and she has not had a great deal of time to explore it alone. This morning started out promising enough, but then Takahiro apprehended her—so quickly that it could not have been a coincidence—and offered to show her around himself.

"Are you looking for Brother's room, Princess?" asks his voice, and Sen starts as Takahiro emerges from around the next corner, his motions feline to the point of fluidity. This predatory aura must run in the family, so much so that even Katsuro seems to feel like prey around his older relatives.

"Y-yes," says Sen uncertainly. It is probably for the best for her to report back to Chikage before doing anything else, but at least being able to take a solitary walk to clear her head without being ambushed would be appreciated.

"Then I will take you there," says Takahiro, beckoning, and Sen follows him reluctantly. To her surprise, however, he does not stop talking. "It isn't just any lady that can stand up to Father. I haven't heard much about Yukimura-san, myself, but… I think Brother did well to choose you instead."

Sen almost stops. "Were you listening in, Takahiro-san?"

"No, of course not," says Takahiro, glancing back at her. "Mother raised me better than that. But there are only so many subjects that could have caused such an uproar."

"An _uproar_?" asks Sen. "That was a civil discussion." Mostly.

Takahiro tosses a knowing smile over his shoulder. "I heard you raise your voice in the end. And I could see that you were angry before the doors even closed behind you." He hesitates, but there is something calculating in the pause. Sen has had more than enough experience with Hiroaki—and even Katsuro—to tell the difference between an air of shyness and genuine timidity. "Mother never shows her feelings like that."

Though Takahiro is clearly looking for a specific response, Sen cannot imagine what it might be, and finds herself at a loss for what to say. Chikage once told her that he and his brothers are either honest or silent, but she cannot help but feel that Takahiro is neither. "I see."

"If I might offer a word of advice, Princess?"

It is a question that demands an answer, however softly. "Please do."

Takahiro smiles. "You are an intelligent lady. As well as perceptive. Enough so that I wonder, at times, how you can tolerate Brother as you do." He looks her up and down carefully. "I may not know in what ways, but I can tell he has changed since he married you. _All_ of us can. I believe that is why Father is so… insistent… that you are to blame for his transformation."

"Yes, so he said."

"In any case, I'm certain you've already noticed that within these walls, we speak our minds only if prompted," says Takahiro. "Apart from that, we tend to hold our tongues. Father is not accustomed to being challenged; even Brother has not dared openly defy him since before I was born. You may find it in your best interests, as well as your husband's, to be somewhat softer-spoken if you wish to change Father's mind."

Sen eyes Takahiro closely. He clearly speaks from personal experience, but seems unaware of the irony—advice to be more careful, delivered so bluntly. "Forgive me, but that approach seems as though it takes quite some time. I doubt I have that advantage, especially since he is so set against me."

"That may be," says Takahiro. "Father knows better than to treat you as an enemy, but in opposing him directly, you must prepare to be opposed. Playing along with him has its advantages, and subtler resistance has been known to shift his stance. Let him believe he is in the right, and he may be more likely to trust you."

"Thank you, Takahiro-san," says Sen, and they come to a halt outside Chikage's door, much sooner than she anticipated. Either they have been moving faster than she realized, or his room is closer than she thought. "But… why are you telling me this?"

"I wish you well," says Takahiro, half an explanation intertwined with a farewell, and bows. Sen watches him retreat, then slides open the door to find Chikage waiting for her, seated seiza. However, he does not speak until she closes it behind her.

"Tell me what happened."

"Your father expressed his suspicion of my motivation for accepting you as my husband," says Sen, seating herself before Chikage. "He went so far as to accuse me of working with the humans—or at least, pointed out that our match is convenient for them as well. He is concerned that, through our marriage, Yase's connection to the imperial court will prevent the Kazama clan from withdrawing from the human world as planned."

Chikage nods once, too distracted to appear truly impassive, though he has evidently decided that now is not the time to talk over such issues. "Anything else?"

Sen deliberates over how much of their audience to explain. Saying too much will only reignite her ire, especially if Chikage is more invested in a report than a discussion, and Takahiro's arrival proved a welcome distraction from her frustrations—if nothing else. "He mentioned Yukimura Chizuru."

Surprise flickers momentarily across Chikage's countenance before his brow creases in a frown. "Did he really? I told him next to nothing, as usual, though Amagiri may have been more thorough in his reports. I did give him full authority to send updates on my behalf."

Sen shakes her head. "You and I both know Amagiri says little, even of matters that concern him directly, and your father knows considerably more about our relationship than he should. About my intervention in your initial pursuit of Chizuru-chan, and even about the nature of our very first meeting."

"Ah," says Chikage, his eyes clouding over, and Sen knows he understands her concern. "I see. Amagiri would never entangle himself so closely in business that is not his own, and certainly not to that extent. But Shiranui…"

"He did say he'd visited your family some time ago," says Sen. "That said, your father also called him a 'meddlesome fool', so I don't think they would work together. Besides, Shiranui also said he wasn't trying to sabotage us—and even if he _was_ , he has always been vocal about his hatred of underhanded methods." She heaves a sigh. "He is confrontational to a fault, even when subtlety might serve him better. I doubt he spoke out of turn behind our backs."

Chikage's lip twitches as though he intends to point something out, but he thinks better of it. "True," he says, but the air between them still hums with newfound tension. As consistent as Amagiri and even Shiranui have been, and as much as Sen and Chikage trust them, they cannot deny that they are both prime suspects.

This silence cannot go unbroken. "Well, you did say your father doesn't have an extensive information network," says Sen, as cheerfully as she can. "That narrows it down somewhat. Whoever his informant is, it must be someone close to the village." Especially if he actually _listened_ to them.

"I'll speak with Takahiro later," says Chikage, glancing at the door as if expecting him to be listening on the other side of it. (For all Sen knows, that is true.) "Perhaps tomorrow, once matters have settled. If anyone knows anything about this, it must be him."

"I'm not sure whether he is involved, either," says Sen, a little apprehensively. "He told me he has not heard much about Chizuru-chan. I don't believe he is responsible for delivering such sensitive information, especially since he was only a child at the time."

"I am well aware, but we have no way of knowing when my father received the information he has," says Chikage dismissively. "It could have been years after the fact. Which means that even though Takahiro is not personally responsible, he could be in contact with whoever _is_." He narrows his eyes. "More importantly—he escorted you back to my room?"

Sen nods. "Takahiro-san appeared out of nowhere as soon as I left the great hall, and proceeded to offer me some unsolicited advice regarding how to deal with your father."

Chikage mouths 'Takahiro- _san_ ', but does not say it aloud. "Expounding on the virtues of subtlety, all the while being insolently direct?"

"Yes," says Sen, blinking several times. "How did you…?"

"He's done that all his life," says Chikage, offering half a humorless smile. "Pretending to ask permission to speak his mind, so that one cannot complain at his impertinence once he does. All the while priding himself on his ability to manipulate others." He lets out a short breath, almost a bitter laugh. "I'm sorry to hear he hasn't changed in the time since I've been gone."

"It seems… you may be the only one who _has_ , Chikage-san," ventures Sen.

Chikage gives her a look of muted astonishment, as though she has given voice to one of his private thoughts, but does not acknowledge it further. "How much of your audience did he overhear?" he asks instead, folding his arms.

"What makes you think…" Sen cuts herself off. Regardless of Takahiro's claims that he was not listening in, Chikage undoubtedly knows his brother's tendencies far better than she. As the memory of indignation floods her heart once more, she finds it more and more difficult to meet Chikage's eyes. "Enough to know that I may have lost my temper."

That brings Chikage up short. " _You_?"

"You know better than anyone else that I am capable of anger, Chikage-san," points out Sen, smothering her instinctive exasperation. "Is it so unusual that I should be offended if I am treated like a traitor to my kind? Or that I should retaliate if I am accused of merely using my husband?"

Chikage frowns, but the gesture is of genuine confusion. "You _are_ using me, Sen. As I am using you. That is the basis of our marriage." He drops his gaze to his lap, as if unable to look at her any longer. "You ensured that much upon our betrothal."

Sen can tell from Chikage's tentative tone that he is trying not to sound accusatory, so she does not offer a retort. "I—I know," she says, struggling to find the words to explain the nuance. "But to imply that such an agreement is purely for my own benefit and that of my clan, without consideration for you or the rest of your people…"

The two of them fall silent as Sen trails off. Yet, despite the understanding in Chikage's eyes, something still feels unsettled between them, dislodged by sudden uncertainty. What is the difference between the way she is using Chikage, and the way Lord Kazama _thinks_ she is? And regardless, why should she care?

Sen's unrest has many sources, but she realizes that Lord Kazama tugged one of them loose, and sudden words fall from her lips: "Your council didn't pressure you to marry me."

"What are you talking about?" asks Chikage, frowning.

"You told me your council pressured you to marry me," says Sen. "Your father claimed that they may have pressured you to _marry_ , but did not say anything about me personally. So why did you…?"

"For all intents and purposes, it is the same thing," says Chikage, with all the certainty of truth. "Yukimura Chizuru was no longer an option, so even without specifying a bride, I could never have pursued anyone other than you. By urging me to marry, the council may as well have ordered me to marry you." He smiles faintly. "I defy any demon to find a worthier wife."

Sen finds herself oddly comforted: so Chikage was not imposing himself on her under false pretenses after all. "I see. But it seems your father does not. I don't suppose…" Even as she speaks, half an idea flashes through Sen's head and tumbles out her mouth before she can stifle it. "If he does not believe that even duty is enough to compel me to accompany you, I don't suppose he would believe _affection_ to be sufficient."

Chikage tosses Sen a cool, measured look, although he cannot fully hide his amusement. "My dearest wife," he says, his lips turning faintly upward in the beginnings of a smirk. "Did you intend to suggest pretending to be in love with me?"

Sen cannot hold Chikage's inquisitive gaze for long. It sounds much worse when he says it aloud, especially since he sounds as though he is trying not to laugh. "It was just a thought," she mutters, turning scarlet. "I didn't mean… that is, I wasn't serious."

Though Chikage finally laughs, the sound is surprisingly gentle, and Sen relaxes slightly. "I can't tell if you're more resourceful or desperate to think of such a plan, but unfortunately, you're right. I doubt you'd be able to prove your attachment to my father's satisfaction. He wouldn't recognize affection if it kissed him full on the mouth."

Sen tilts her head. "Would _you_?"

Chikage scowls. "Don't you dare," he says, eyeing her lips—perhaps unconsciously. "I believe I know what affection _is_ , at least, which is more than he can say."

That is very much debatable, and Sen longs to know what makes Chikage think so, but chooses not to ask. There are more pressing matters to address. "You don't have a very high opinion of your father," she observes instead, recalling the contempt in his voice. "I understand that on an emotional level, but he does at least seem competent as a leader, and you _are_ his son. It seems counterproductive at best for you to be so antagonistic toward one another."

"I don't hate my father, Sen," says Chikage boredly. "We have simply never seen eye-to-eye. I have never been particularly interested in leading, but as the firstborn and the purest of blood in the Kazama family, it is my duty and my destiny to rule. Yoshiaki would be more than willing to take that burden off my hands, but that isn't my decision. My father is very traditional, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"So you intend to obey him, and take his place?"

"Why do you sound so apprehensive?" asks Chikage, quirking an eyebrow, but does not give Sen the chance to explain that such a tone was unintentional. "I assumed you'd be ecstatic that I have chosen to follow your example and accept my responsibilities, or some such nonsense. Ascending to such a position in deed as well as name will afford me a great deal of influence among lesser demons, and enable me to better fulfill my promise to you."

"I know, and I am grateful," says Sen. Slightly less so, in light of his apparently instinctive condescension, but grateful nonetheless. "But… I confess, I do have my doubts about allowing our heir to grow up with _him_ as a predecessor."

Chikage shakes his head. "I hope to replace my father sometime before our child is born. If I can prove to his satisfaction that I have learned the skills of a leader, he need not have a hand in our child's upbringing. All the more so if we remain settled in Yase."

"I suppose you're right," says Sen. "I apologize."

There is another brief silence, but Chikage breaks it before long, as though having wanted to speak for some time, though Sen has done nothing to stop him. "What exactly did my father _say_ about Chizuru?" he asks, glancing aside so she cannot read his expression. "Just that she'd have made me a better wife? Or something to that effect?"

"Yes, that exactly," says Sen, eyeing Chikage curiously. Could he be concerned for Chizuru, given that Lord Kazama now has information involving her? "But I made sure to point out that I can offer just as much. My blood may not be quite as pure, but our children will still be powerful demons. And descendants of Suzuka Gozen, at that."

As Sen speaks, a frown flits across Chikage's face, and he turns his full attention back to her—looking at her as if with new eyes. "Children."

Sen blinks a few times, nonplussed. "What?"

"You said children?"

"Yes?"

"As in, more than one child?"

Sen feels the heat rise to her cheeks and glances aside, although she cannot imagine why. It was an honest and trivial mistake. "I was speaking generally," she says, but her voice comes out a mumble and makes her words sound untrue. "You know what I mean."

Chikage lets out a bark of laughter. "Yes, Sen," he says, taking her wrists half-gently in his hands. "I know what you mean. And I trust you know what _I_ mean." But before Sen can so much as ask what he is talking about, Chikage pushes her to the ground. Her body moves automatically to accommodate him, all at once, and then they are still.

Gazing helplessly up at Chikage as he pins her wrists above her head, Sen takes a moment to try and get her bearings, but all she sees is her husband. "Chikage-san," she begins, moistening her lips. Children—or _child_ —aside, hardly anything they have been talking about tied into this. How can he make such a leap so easily? "Is now the time?"

"When else do you suggest?" asks Chikage, his tone impudent, almost playful. "Nighttime, when the world will be listening? Believe me when I tell you that the walls are thinner here than they are in Yase, in more than one way."

Sen blushes. "You mean…"

"Here, we are watched," says Chikage, his voice low in both pitch and volume so that it sends shivers down Sen's spine. He has grown better and better at encouraging her mood to match his. "Perhaps not literally, but you must assume that all we say and do will be made known to the others one way or another. So it happens that we have two choices." He nestles his face into the crook of Sen's neck. "We can force them to guess at our unity, or we can make it understood."

Her thoughts are beginning to scatter again, an emptiness inside her aching to be filled. "M-make _what_ understood?" gasps Sen, her body a traitor to her mind and all propriety, as Chikage kisses the side of her neck insistently.

He only smiles into her skin. "What do you think?" he asks, his tone as close to teasing as Sen has ever heard it. "Shall I cover your mouth when I have you mewling beneath me, or let you call out my name?"

Sen stares at him. For all his flippancy, it is a genuine question, but that bewilders her all the more. "Have you grown so bold?" asks Sen, half-complaining. "You've always been loath to let others hear us, if you can help it. Why suggest taking such a risk now?"

"Did you not hear me?" asks Chikage, pulling back to look Sen in the eye. "They will inevitably find out that we find one another satisfactory. It is only a matter of how." He glances aside briefly. "Given the lengths to which you've gone in the past, I'd have thought you'd consider dignity a small price to pay for proving to them conclusively that we are united."

"There _are_ some lines I will not cross," snaps Sen, but her voice vanishes into breath as Chikage maneuvers himself easily between her legs. "Just because I think you prize your demon pride too highly doesn't mean I don't have any!"

"You could have fooled me, preparing to throw it away by masquerading as some sort of lovesick girl," says Chikage, lowering his body over Sen's to trap her beneath him. "Even I could never believe that you love me. What makes you think you'd be able to convince anyone else?"

Something about that question hurts more than it should, but Chikage lapses into jerky rocking movements so that Sen cannot feel the sting for long. "Chikage-san," she breathes, her hips already stirring against his in automatic reciprocation. "Forget I—said anything. Please."

Chikage does not respond in words, but Sen knows he understands from the slightly softened glint in his eye… to the squeeze of his strong fingers around one of her wrists… to his tongue on her lips. As they establish a familiar rhythm in foreign territory, the flames of hunger lick at them both from inside, gradually consuming them. And Sen is satisfied, for once, with Chikage taking control: here, it seems that he was born to do so.

This time, their ritual is far more for the sake of release than anything else; they have no desire to prolong it. The only moment they are not moving together is the moment they move apart, fumbling with one another's clothes to push aside the last layers remaining between them and complete the ceremony. And when the end comes, mere minutes after the beginning, he covers her mouth and swallows her name and even tries to stop panting through their shared spasms.

To Sen's surprise, Chikage does not even separate from her again before he kisses her, long and slow and lazy, off and on as they catch their breath. This is not a gesture meant to ignite her passions, but to calm them—not a hungry kiss, but rather a satiated one. And, though a question forms in the back of her mind, Sen dares not give voice to it. Instead, she simply rearranges her clothing once Chikage rolls over, nuzzles close to him, and slips easily into dreamless slumber.

By the time Sen surfaces again, Chikage is already awake, seated at his desk and hard at work on some sort of calligraphy. And freshly bathed, from the looks of things. "Good morning," he says, though the sunlight indicates that it must be mid-afternoon by now. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Of course I can walk," says Sen, a little crossly. "I am a demon, the same as you, and that encounter was _far_ from intense by your usual standards. Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to take you somewhere," says Chikage, glancing over his shoulder. "Whenever you are appropriately bathed and dressed, I think…" He hesitates, turning back to study his work. "I should introduce you to someone. I'm sure you must be curious, but you'll find out who when we get there."

Sen crosses her arms. "Can you at least tell me where we are going?"

"Nowhere unpleasant," says Chikage, resuming his writing. "I'm sure it's only a few miles away at most. I've never measured the exact distance myself, but it isn't so far that a determined child could not traverse it."

"That tells me nothing," says Sen, glancing skyward. "How should I dress?"

"However you like," says Chikage, turning around fully this time. "I doubt she'll care. Just be sure to get the stars out of your eyes by the time we arrive, or neither of us will hear the end of it."

Sen flushes. "I do _not_ have stars in my eyes!"

"Then stop staring," says Chikage smugly, tilting his head. "Unless you want me to return the favor, though that may lead to more than you bargained for. And I'm afraid it may slip my mind to hush you next time."

"Really, Chikage-san!" exclaims Sen, but cannot suppress a small smile as she readies her clothes—turning her mind to forming as much of a plan as possible with such incomplete information. If she is to meet someone new, a kimono will make a better and more accurate impression than hakama. Even if it ought to be a plain one, since she must travel on foot to get to their destination.

Once the water is heated, Sen intends to wash quickly, but instead finds herself soaking away her stress for what must be quite a long time. Realizing abruptly that it must have been almost an hour since she sank into the bath, she marvels that Chikage did not come to fetch her, and finishes her ablutions in a hurry.

"About time," says Chikage upon her return, his tone impatient, and jerks his head toward the door as Sen drops her worn clothes in a haphazard pile. "Let us be off. At this rate, we may not make it home again by nightfall." He strides out into the hall without further ado, and Sen hurries after him, closing the door behind them.

"Does anyone else know where we are going?" asks Sen.

"I have informed Takahiro," says Chikage. "He will ensure that anyone who needs to know of our absence, does. And besides, he will be far more nosy if I tell him nothing at all than if I hand him—and _only_ him—some harmless information to play with, once in a while. That way, he can pretend to be a real spy."

"How charitable of you," says Sen, and Chikage chuckles as they step outside.

Wherever they are headed, the journey is a pleasant one, if a little more strenuous than Sen would like. It is not yet sunset, but the afternoon sunlight has taken on a golden tint, flooding the world with gentle fire. It seems autumn lasts longer here; even as winter approaches, more and more rapidly, the trees have not yet shed all their leaves.

Walking side by side with no need to exchange any more words, they find themselves in the midst of another settlement before long, though there is no main street to indicate it as such. The houses are still more scattered than the Kazama village; most are half-hidden by trees, connected only by a series of well-trodden trails. This must be Amagiri's village, realizes Sen, taking in the peaceful scenery. (No wonder he is so ill at ease in larger, more crowded settlements.)

One more side path later, and Chikage leads Sen toward a house in a clearing. It is somewhat larger than the houses they passed in the village, but no grander. "We're here," announces Chikage, stopping a short distance outside, and raises his voice to address its inhabitants. "Amagiri, I know you're there. Let us in."

There is a brief pause before someone responds, but their voice is decidedly not Amagiri's. Rather, it is low and female and somewhat hoarse. "Is that the young lord I hear?" asks the stranger, her voice drawing nearer along with her footsteps, and the door slides open.

The woman behind it is not an imposing one, but Sen still has to resist the urge to take a step back. Despite her short stature and plump physique, she gives off an air of ladylike power, refined yet unmistakably dangerous. Her hair is entirely silver, twisted up in an elegant bun, and there are more than a few wrinkles in her pale skin. Yet, contrary to these signs of age, there is also a sharp and youthful glint in her sky-blue eyes. (She must have been quite a beauty in her day.)

"Hello, Aunt," says Chikage, and Sen almost double takes at his informal tone. He must have known her since he was a boy. " _Is_ Amagiri here? It isn't like him to ignore a summons."

The lady inclines her head. "My son is currently resting," she says, her alert gaze alighting on Sen's face. "Is this your wife, Kazama-kun?"

"Yes," says Chikage. "Sen, this is Amagiri's mother, Hisoka. Aunt, this is Sen." He does not introduce her by her title, which is equal parts surprising and pleasing. They are all aware of it already, and truth be told, Sen has never thought much of it herself. Her birth is no more or less noble than most other demon leaders; the only difference in rank comes from her particularly ancient and prestigious ancestry.

"It is an honor to meet you, Hisoka-san," says Sen, bowing.

"The honor is mine, Sen-hime," returns Hisoka, sinking into a demure bow of her own—just a little lower. "I have heard much about you, all of it from Kyuju. I should be interested in hearing what _you_ have to say, Kazama-kun." She turns as she speaks, leaving the door open in an invitation to follow.

"You make it sound as though I am to stand trial," complains Chikage, but accompanies Hisoka into the house after removing his sandals, and Sen follows suit uncertainly.

From the looks of things, Amagiri's home is the opposite of Chikage's. Sen doubts his family keeps many servants; hardly any would be required to keep such a modest space clean. The decorations are sparse, but tasteful, and the place itself consists of only one or two main halls, a single courtyard, and no more rooms than are useful.

Hisoka bows Chikage and Sen into one of them, a sitting room—judging by the cushions, already prepared—but does not enter, herself. "I will alert my son to your arrival," she says, and turns to leave.

"That will not be necessary," says Chikage unexpectedly, and Hisoka halts. "I did not come here to see him, Aunt. I simply did not wish to inconvenience you by calling for you, specifically."

Hisoka laughs. "More likely, you knew you could not use such a tone with _me._ Nonetheless, I shall prepare some tea. Please excuse me." She leaves the door open as she departs, so that Sen can see out into the hallway. That feeling of openness is comforting in another new place, almost as if Hisoka meant to leave Sen an escape route, and she relaxes slightly.

Sen does not realize that Chikage is watching her reaction until he speaks. "Hisoka is very considerate," he says, tracing her gaze into the corridor. "I'm sure she can still remember her first impression of my village, and my family."

"Hisoka-san married into the Amagiri clan?" Such is Hisoka's aura of authority that Sen subconsciously assumed _she_ had led the clan prior to Amagiri's ascension. Perhaps she is still too used to the way things are run in Yase; their women tend to be more politically prominent.

Chikage nods. "Hisoka did lead the clan for some time before Amagiri came of age, but she was not born into the position. As far as I know, she had never met Amagiri Katashi before her clan sent her here to marry him, and she had to go through my grandfather first. I don't know the particulars of that encounter, but I'd imagine _she_ remembers them vividly, and can guess that you have gone through something similar."

"Your father takes after your grandfather, then?"

"I never knew him," says Chikage. "But from what little my father has told me of his own childhood, I believe so."

They lapse into oddly companionable silence, during which Sen feels some of the tension ebb away. It is quiet here, and the environment is calm. There is no sense of being monitored by anyone other than her husband, nor is there any hint of the bustle of servants elsewhere. In that way, the atmosphere is more peaceful even than Yase.

"You see why I brought you here," says Chikage eventually, though does not look at Sen as he speaks—perhaps lost in memories. "This house was my refuge, and you seemed in need of one too. No one should have to endure an environment so suffocating without any hope of respite."

"My, how chivalrous of you, Kazama-kun," says Hisoka, arriving to set a tray of hot tea before them, and Sen almost jumps. "I'd never have expected to hear such considerate words from you. Are you so fatigued from the journey?"

Chikage rolls his eyes, and in that moment, he looks almost like a child again. The resemblance to Katsuro has never been so strong. "You know I can be polite, Aunt," he says, leaning forward to take a cup, and Sen does the same. "As I recall, you were directly responsible for teaching me that much."

"If only it were that easy," says Hisoka, settling into seiza across from Chikage and Sen, and picks up the last teacup. "You may learn quickly, but you have never _changed_ unless coerced into doing so. I am glad to see that you are doing so well with him, Sen-hime." Sen smiles tentatively, taking a sip of tea. Hisoka speaks matter-of-factly, her tone respectful despite her brusque words, and she finds herself unsure how to respond.

Fortunately, there does not seem to be any need of doing so. "Moreover," continues Hisoka, turning back to Chikage, "I am pleased that you finally made a good match, though I confess myself surprised at your choice. After all, Kyuju did tell me how you reacted to hearing of Sen-hime, years ago." She takes a sip of tea. "If I remember correctly, you not only refused to consider her a potential partner, but refused to so much as pay your respects."

"So that is why Amagiri came to Yase alone," says Sen, glancing at the suddenly restless Chikage. "And why I did not meet you personally until you tried forcing some sensitive information out of me."

"Inexcusable conduct," says Hisoka, and though her countenance is stony, there is a good-humored glimmer in her clear eyes. "Had you been my son, you would be no longer."

Sen glances at Chikage, half expecting him to tense up defensively, but he only sighs. "Then it is fortunate that I am _not_ your son," he says, sipping his tea. "Seeing as Sen and I are now married, my original opinion of her and the circumstances of our eventual meeting are irrelevant. All that matters now is our current alliance."

"I don't believe I've ever heard your original opinion of me," remarks Sen, her curiosity piqued. "Though your father did tell me that you initially ruled me out as a partner, so I'd imagine it was not a favorable one."

"I'm sure you don't _want_ to hear what I thought of you at first," returns Chikage, scowling into his teacup as fixedly as if he expects his reflection to blink first. "You already know I did not think well of you until after our marriage."

"It surprises me to hear that you think _well_ of me even now," says Sen, and Hisoka's faint smile draws her attention away from Chikage's even fainter blush. "But what opinion can possibly be worse than the ones you have already expressed directly to me? You can have no qualms with Hisoka-san's presence, I'm sure."

Chikage slides his fingers back and forth along his teacup. "It isn't that I hated you," he says slowly, sounding as though he must force the words out. "I never hated you. But I hadn't even met you—I _refused_ to meet you—by the time I first passed judgment. I made some inaccurate assumptions about the kind of woman you are, and… I prefer not to dwell on my mistakes." Chikage takes another sip of tea, perhaps to disguise a more instinctive swallow. "That's all."

Hisoka chuckles softly. "So you are ashamed because your view of Sen-hime has changed so much for the better. I hope you know that is a good thing, Kazama-kun. Discomfort need not be destructive." Chikage opens his mouth as if to make some sort of retort, but Hisoka cuts him off with a wistful sigh, glancing aside. "Now, if only my son would realize that and settle down…"

Footsteps interrupt her as she trails off, and the three of them turn toward the door as one to find Amagiri himself. His expression is impassive enough that Sen cannot tell at a glance whether he was listening in, but his timing is too perfect to be a total coincidence. If she had to guess, he already intended to enter the conversation, but specifically chose to interrupt before his mother launched into an indirect lecture he has likely heard in person hundreds of times before.

"Kazama," greets Amagiri, bowing. "Princess."

"There you are, Amagiri," remarks Chikage, looking distinctly relieved. (Judging by Hisoka's subtle surprise and subtler amusement, it may be the first time he has ever appeared happy to see him.) "I'd have expected you to hide the entire time we were here. Did you have something to say?"

Amagiri hesitates, his eyes flicking deliberately between Sen and Chikage before landing on Sen again, and she realizes abruptly that—for whatever reason—anything he might have to say is for her ears only. What is so important that he, of all demons, is willing to risk intruding on a conversation to take away one of its participants…?

Sen resolves to find out. "Amagiri," she says, rising. "As clan leader, might you be interested in showing me around your village? I'm afraid Chikage-san took me straight to your residence, and I missed everything else." Sen glances back at Chikage to find him frowning, but to her surprise, he offers no protest and turns back to his tea as though entirely indifferent. Undoubtedly, he sees the wisdom in allowing them to meet, given the day's suspicions and concerns.

"I would be honored," says Amagiri, his expression softening ever so slightly in relief, and escorts Sen out the door.


End file.
